


A Town Like Alice

by justine472



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bernie Wolfe Lives, F/F, Post-Canon Fix-It, down under
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justine472/pseuds/justine472
Summary: Bernie Wolfe is caught up in an explosion at the airport in Mogadishu and believed dead. Little does anyone know that she has, in fact, been rescued by an NGO believing her one of their own, and spirited away to Australia. After Bernie's death, Serena decides to leave Holby and do some travelling on her own. Coincidences occur.
Relationships: Alex Dawson/Bernie Wolfe, Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 113
Kudos: 182





	1. Out of the Chaos

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Piece Of My Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860937) by [justine472](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justine472/pseuds/justine472). 



> Well, if you can bear another Berena fixit, this is my take, 12 months later, on how things could have gone down differently to canon. Back in July 2019 I posted my original fixit fic called "Piece of My Heart", and there are certain overlaps. It is not necessary to read 'Piece of My Heart' before reading this, but there are some common characters- the Italian neurosurgeon, Chiara Petrelli and the ward Sister, Mariam, also Colonel Max de Vries and the staff of the UNSOS Level II hospital. They exist in this fic but the relationship between them is not explored in as much detail as in the previous fic. 
> 
> NB: The title is taken from Nevil Shute's 1950 novel "A Town Like Alice", later made into a film, but my story has nothing to do with Shute's original.

**Monday, July 8 th 2019, Mogadishu, Somalia**

The dust from the explosion at the UNSOS Level II hospital had barely settled when a second one hit the airport. If there was one thing to be grateful for, thought Becca Travers, as her MSF Australia transport finally made it through the barricades, it was that heavy rains overnight had flooded the roads and the resulting delays had meant that she had missed being blown to smithereens. She had only been able to get past the military roadblock into the airport compound by using her MSF pass, and she saw a range of emergency services already there, wading into the chaos, triaging injured people, removing bodies. However, Becca was not here as a result of the bomb attack. She was meeting a cohort of 25 medical personnel being shipped in from the MSF Sydney office to work among some of the poorest people in Africa. She wondered how many she would actually be able to collect.

After an hour wading through the dust, rubble, mud and body parts with her MSF Australia banner, she had counted 25 bodies belonging to her group. Four dead or missing, twelve wounded and nine more or less in one piece, although the shock wouldn’t help their jetlag. The live ones had helped identify the injured and dead, although in one or two cases they were unsure as they hadn’t known each other prior to departure. She had come on her own with the Somali driver so she appointed one of the newly arrived doctors as caretaker for the living, responsible for getting them to their hotel, then, pulling a fair bit of rank here and there, managed to commandeer a couple of ambulances to convey the injured to a private hospital she knew. The dead were tagged and destined for the mortuary. She also requested urgent assistance from senior colleagues at their base in Baidoa to help her get this mess sorted out. 

As an experienced theatre nurse with a trauma specialism, she found her skills in demand on the ambulance journey. She had gone in the first ambulance with the most severely wounded, and while the paramedics battled to keep them alive, she had joined in. The patient she was assisting was a tall, slim blonde woman with what looked like serious internal injuries and a badly torn leg.

She was unconscious and Becca kept the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth as the ambulance lurched through flood waters and over the rutted road. The woman’s pulse was weak and she was losing blood, so Becca applied a tourniquet to the leg and held on for dear life. Once at the hospital, the emergency team were waiting and Becca ran in with her patient, still holding the oxygen mask, while the other staff attended to the four others in a critical condition. A surgeon in green scrubs with dark circles under his eyes came rushing to meet her as she reeled off the patient’s vitals and indicated the problem areas. Then they took her away and Becca went to the Emergency reception to log details of who they were and that they were MSF medical staff. It was now midday, thirty-two degrees with 88% humidity and she was hot, sweaty, exhausted and with acute period pains.

Four hours, two one-litre bottles of water and several high strength pain killers later, Becca was roused from her prone position on chairs in the waiting room by the surgeon who had greeted them on arrival. Eleven of the twelve injured had made it and were in recovery. Becca got wearily to her feet and followed him. Yes, her blonde lady was among them. She read the chart. Open splenectomy and vascular repairs to the leg, some kind of head trauma but no serious damage there as far as they could tell, but she was being kept in a coma until the swelling subsided naturally. This patient was one of only two without a name as she had had no ID on her, but round her neck, strangely intact, was a silver chain with the letter ‘B’. So B she became.

**Friday, July 12 th 2019, Mogadishu, Somalia**

It was with a heavy heart that Major Alex Dawson left her commanding officer’s temporary office in what was left of the UNSOS Level II hospital that evening. The conversation had been depressing, to say the least.

Colonel Max de Vries was running on a combination of caffeine, amphetamines and rapidly expiring hope that any of his missing officers would be found alive.

“I’m afraid we have an update on Major Wolfe’s probable status,” he said as she came into the room. “Her body armour has been located and identified. It was at the airport. I assume she had been on the transport to meet the flight from Nairobi, to collect her luggage.”

“But there’s no body?”

He shook his head. They both knew what that meant.

“We’ve checked all the civilian and military hospitals for unclaimed survivors, all the mortuaries for corpses and body parts. I think at this point we need to assume the worst”, de Vries said, running his hand over his haggard features. This was his last posting before retirement and thoughts of his wife and his allotment in Bruges were getting sweeter by the day.

"I feel I owe it to Major Wolfe’s family to go and tell them myself. Major Wolfe and I were…very close.” Alex felt her voice breaking a little as she said that.

De Vries looked at her for a moment then turned to his computer screen.

“There’s a military transport going to Addis at 08.00 tomorrow. You can be on it and we’ll book you a seat on the evening Lufthansa flight to London via Frankfurt. Let’s say ten days’ compassionate leave, including travel time, hmmm?”

***

Senior Nurse Becca Travers, age 39, a sparky Darwin native who had been all over Africa and Asia with MSF and other organizations, and who was looking forward to getting home to her partner and their dog, found that instead of spending her last week in Baidoa handing over to the new team, she was stuck in Mogadishu monitoring the incoming members of her team injured in the explosion. Every day she checked on the woman they called B, and finally, after three days, she began to come out of her coma. When Becca did her rounds in the early evening she found a female doctor flashing lights into B’s eyes and checking her vital signs.

“Hi,” she began, feeling large, ungainly not to mention scruffy in her cargo pants and polo shirt next to this attractive, professional looking woman in rather fetching lilac scrubs.

"Senior Nurse Becca Travers, MSF Australia. Some of my guys are here on this ward.”

“Chiara Petrelli, Consultant Neurosurgeon”, the other replied warmly in a charming Italian accent and shaking Becca’s hand. Becca relaxed, sensing an ally in this medical rag bag of staff from all over, some of whom didn’t even know that MSF had an Australia office.

Chiara indicated the blonde woman in the bed and asked “Is this one of yours?”

“We uh believe so. Has she spoken?”

“No, she’s slowly waking up but she may not speak for quite a while. Sometimes, after a very big shock they stay in this semi-comatose state, aware of what is going on around them but not fully conscious or willing to participate.”

  
“Willing?”

Chiara smiled. “That’s my feeling…often they have amnesia and just re-entering this big bad world can be very traumatic.”

“You’re not wrong there, Dr….”

“Call me Chiara. This is a war zone, no need for formality.”

“Right, well, Chiara, there’s something I need to ask you if you have a minute.”

“Certainly, Becca, is it? Fire away”.

"OK so my rota is coming to an end – I was on a three month attachment to the hospital in Baidoa with a team from Darwin and we’re due to fly back the day after tomorrow. These guys were all incoming and due to take over from us. Now we need to repatriate the injured ones as soon as possible, so MSF is trying to arrange a single repatriation flight. We’re all medics so we have doctors, nurses and anaesthetists in the team, which means we can care for them on the journey. MSF is chartering a plane and I have to be sure these guys can all travel, on stretchers no problem, unconscious, whatever, but we have to get them home.”

“I see. And, of course, don’t misunderstand me here Becca, but we also need the beds for the locals.”

“Of course you do. So do you think that between us we could….?”

Chiara gave her a cheeky grin that made her feel hot all over, then she turned slightly and snagged the sleeve of a passing ward sister.

“Sister Mariam”, she said, flashing her hazel eyes in the most seductive way. The tall, rather severe looking ward sister stopped mid-stride and looked at the pair of them while Chiara explained rapidly what needed to be done; the nurse was quick to catch on.

“Leave it with me”, she said, in a noticeable north American accent “When you come in tomorrow, just ask for me -Sister Mariam- and we’ll go over all the patient data and give you their personal effects. This happens all the time so we’re used to it. You’ll have to organise your own transport to the airport, our ambulances tend to be in great demand.”

“No worries, we’ll take it from here “, Becca answered, relieved. She didn’t miss the flirtatious look that passed between the cute Italian doctor and the ramrod straight, model-like Sister, whose cheeks had darkened just perceptibly when Chiara rested her hand on her shoulder for a moment. Becca chuckled to herself. If Chiara hadn’t yet got lucky with the beautiful Sister, she soon would. And who could blame her?

After Chiara had left, Becca spent time going round each of her eleven wounded and talking to those who were now conscious. No one knew who the blonde in Bay 7 was, although one man said he thought he’d seen her on the plane coming in from Sydney. That meant she was either Claire O’Donnell or Brenda Williamson. The “B” around her neck might be a clue- or not.

Later that night, Becca skyped her partner from her hotel room. Linda had been on the night shift at her hospital, and had just got home.

“Hey babe, looks like I’ll be home early Monday morning. The office is repatriating us all to Darwin, thank God.”

“Well what about those injured people? Weren’t they from Sydney?”

  
“All over, I think they just flew them out of Sydney, but it’s something to do with the charter company. They booked to fly back to Darwin and they won’t change it, so they’ll have to sort out the injured later. Anway, that’s good news, I’ve fucken had it this time. Might have a longer break back home before thinking about the next one. Hey- is that a joint you’re smoking?”

“Too right”, Linda smirked, blowing smoke at the screen.

“Well that is so fucken unfair- and here I am pot-less and beer-less, more’s the pity. Keep some for me for when I get home.”

“I sure will. And say goodnight to Alastair,” grabbing the shaggy dog next to her and pulling him in front of the screen.”

“If you’re not careful that dog will be as high as a kite breathing in all that smoke”, Becca laughed. Alastair barked and wagged his tail.

“Bye, love you,” Becca blew a kiss at the screen as Linda blew one back.

When a short while later she lay down to sleep, her thoughts returned to B. She really needed to solve that mystery.

**Tuesday, July 16 th 2019, Holby, UK**

_Well, that went well,_ Alex muttered to herself as she strode out of the hospital. _Not._ She hadn’t expected a trumpet fanfare for God’s sake, but neither had she expected so much hostility from Cameron. And Serena, barely civil, looking much the worse for wear. She had clearly been a beautiful woman once, but stress and now, grief, had taken their toll. Alex remembered Bernie telling her how Serena had gone completely off the rails when her daughter died, so the poor woman had certainly had her share of personal angst. Alex had not been able to have a proper conversation with either of them to explain that she had stopped off on her way to Holby at their regimental HQ, 5 Rifles, in Wiltshire, and that they had some suggestions for how to contribute to the funeral.

Interesting that Serena seemed to have absorbed the facts but that Cameron was still in denial. Some of his questions had almost made her question herself. Here she was, saying that Bernie was definitely dead when they had identified her body armour, and this is what she herself had believed; but, surely, if the body armour had been **on** Bernie, so would DNA if she had been blown to bits. Explosions were messy. Or maybe the body armour was somewhere else? _Stop it, Dawson, you know she’s dead. No one could have survived that blast if they were within a 100m radius of it._

**Tuesday, July 16 th, Darwin, Australia**

“So this is your mystery woman?” Linda exclaimed, indicating the bed where the woman they were still calling B now lay.

Becca had a growing feeling of unease. They had flown all the survivors back to Darwin because that was the only deal on the table (for which Becca had been eternally grateful). Now MSF had taken responsibility for those who were ready to be transferred, and they were left with just B, a woman in a coma with a head injury and a guy whose left arm and left leg had been blown off. Becca had gone back in Mogadishu to Sister Mariam with her passenger list, which consisted only of names, job titles, passport numbers and dates of birth. She was pretty sure that B must be Brenda Williamson, who was currently 49 years old, but Sister Mariam had gone one better and requested that MSF in Sydney send scans of all the passports. Brenda Williamson was black. And clearly missing. And that left Clare O’Donnell who was 35 with red hair and green eyes and matched the other unnamed female patient. with the head injury.

“Fuck!”, Becca exclaimed, pushing her damp hand up into the short spikes of her cropped hair. The she remembered where she was. With the severe- looking and probably straight-laced Sister Mariam “Whoops! Sorry, didn’t mean to swear!”

“Don’t worry about it”, Mariam said. “I’m from Ethiopia but I studied in Canada. We learned all about swearing there. We also swear in Ethiopia of course, but ladies try not to do that in public.”

Becca burst out laughing. “Well, we‘re not ‘ladies’ in Australia, Sister!”

Sister Mariam smiled, a relaxation of her facial muscles that utterly transformed her usually severe look, but then continued with the lists until she came to the obvious conclusion.

"So if this lady doesn’t match anyone on your list, and the only missing one is eliminated by race, what should you do?”

"A good question, Sister. Have you called the Poms?”

“Poms?”

“Sorry, the British Embassy to see if any of their citizens are missing?”

“The British Embassy, UNSOS, the Americans, Canadians, New Zealanders, French. In fact anyone who might have had personnel at the airport at that time. The British say all their dead and injured are accounted for.”

“Right. So if no one’s screaming for her, she must be an Aussie. That's my logic anyway. Maybe we got confused with one of the names of the dead. Look, I haven’t got time to deal with this now, I need to ship ‘em home and fast. Let’s sort it out there, eh?”

Sensing the Sister’s attention wavering, she had raised her eyes to observe that Dr. Petrelli had chosen that moment to make an entrance.

"Have you heard this one talk, Doctor? And if so, in what language?”, indicating B.

“She’s semi-conscious”, Chiara observed. “And I heard her murmur a few words. Definitely in English and not an Italian native speaker for sure.”

“Right, so if I ship her to Australia on the understanding she’s probably an Aussie and there’s been some sort of ID mixup, how would that sit with you?”

Sister Mariam and Chiara exchanged looks. Becca didn’t know what to read into it except that there was clearly a whole lot of flirting going on.

“Becca, if no one claims this lady, please do take her and I trust you will find where she belongs eventually.” Chiara had smiled. Sister Mariam had looked relieved.

“Thank you, ladies. And I promise you that if we find out she’s from somewhere else we’ll get her home as soon as humanly possible. Even if I have to buy the ticket myself!”

“I think I fucked up big time”, Becca had moaned to Linda when they were two joints down on the evening she got back.

“How do you make that out?” Linda asked, doing a big exhale so that Becca had to cough and blow the smoke away from her face.

“’Cos she kept schtum until we got her on the plane, then she started coming to and talking. “

“In English?”

"Yeah. But she’s a fucking Pom. And a posh one. How am I going to explain that to the Powers That Be?”

"Say nothing, babe, not for now. There’s plenty of Poms in Darwin. No one will bat an eye. Maybe she migrated like 10 years ago and never lost her accent?”

Becca had rolled her eyes, but now, here they were, both on the ward- an unusual occurrence- and B was awake and looking confused.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” Becca asked cheerfully.

“Like I was run over by a tank,” the woman said.

"Well, darlin’, you pretty much were. Massive IED at Mogadishu airport. We’ve been waiting for you to come round so that we can find out who you are.”

“Who I am?”

"That’s right. We have no ID for you at the moment.”

B looked around at the unfamiliar room. White, clean, sterile. Pretty curtains around her bay, currently partly drawn back. Two unfamiliar nurses by her side. Australian by the sound of it.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“Darwin, Australia,” Becca replied, waiting to see her reaction.

“Oh”, nothing.

“Does that mean anything to you?” Linda asked gently.

"Um, no, should it?”

“OK, first things first,” Becca said. “Can you tell us your name?”

The woman had a look of surprise, but also panic in her hazel eyes.

“Um..I ..er…”

“You had a chain round your neck with the letter B on it”, Becca said, reaching into the bedside cabinet to find it among the woman’s meagre possessions. “Here, does that ring any bells?”

B stared at it but her confusion was clear.

“Let’s not tire our patient”, Linda said. “You have a good rest and the doctor will be round to see you shortly”, and she steered Becca away.

“Classic traumatic amnesia”, she explained. “Asking her lots of questions is only going to make her stressed. Look, you stick to theatre traumas and let me do the bedside stuff. I need to talk to the neurologist about this case. She’s pretty gorgeous, though, wouldn’t you say? Someone must be missing her!”


	2. Decision Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena starts to accept that Bernie is dead. Alex returns to Mogadishu to find some evidence of Bernie has been returned to them. Bernie remembers her name (sort of) and gets out of hospital.

**Holby, UK, Monday, July 22 nd, 2019**

Serena Campbell had almost in her mind accepted Alex’s claim that she, and not Serena, had been the love of Bernie’s life. In the seven months since Bernie’s departure from Holby- that terrible Tuesday evening when Serena had stumbled, drunk on a combination of Shiraz, champagne and grief, into her house to find all Bernie’s things gone, her house key pushed through the letter box and no note or indication that Bernie had ever been there- Serena had found herself questioning their relationship more and more. Had it been just a figment of her imagination, this sense of absolute rightness she had felt with Bernie? Was it Alex she had really wanted? Or had Serena just pushed Bernie away, to the extent that Alex was able to slip back in and fill the emotional void? Whatever it was, having propelled herself through the farce of Bernie’s family “funeral” (minus body) and the car crash of a memorial yesterday at the hospital, after which she had had to endure Alex trying to be friendly and even kissing her on the cheek, Serena had been wholly unprepared for Alex’ final confession, when she had returned to AAU as a patient.

Sitting at home, alone, the Shiraz bottle halfway down, Serena pondered the strangeness of it all. Even if Alex had been telling the truth- that Serena was, indeed, the love of Bernie’s life, she did not retract her previous assertion that Alex and Bernie had been engaged. So Serena was no further forward. What use was it being the love of someone’s life if they left you to go back to their ex? Suddenly, Serena drained her wine, put the wine glass in the dishwasher and recorked the Shiraz. Oblivion didn’t help. Bernie was, apparently, dead. Her job now was to try to support Cameron as best she could.

**Darwin, Australia, Tuesday, July 23 rd, 2019**

The patient called “B” with the British accent had made excellent progress since her arrival in Darwin, and the doctors were discussing plans for her discharge. This put Becca in a quandary. B had no place to go, no passport, no money or way of earning any, and still no clear idea of who she was. She had quickly regained strength and mobility and had it not been for the amnesia, she could have been discharged much more quickly. Linda accompanied her to physio every day and proclaimed her “amazing” for her grit, determination to succeed and her obvious previous level of fitness.

Becca had been forced, finally, to go to her line manager at MSF Australia and admit that she had made a mistake in identifying B as one of their own staff, but that in the chaos, it had seemed right to accept responsibility rather than leave her to her fate. No trace had been found of Brenda Williamson, which was another problem, and her family were all over MSF with lawyers asking for an explanation, something MSF was struggling to provide, even with help from the hospitals and different agencies operating in Mogadishu. So, for the moment, B was an anomaly that MSF was prepared to accept until more information could be obtained. Or, at least, that was the situation until yesterday.

Becca had taken to joining Linda and B after the physio sessions for lunch in the hospital gardens. Becca worked as a locum theatre nurse, and with her trauma specialism, she was usually much in demand. This was a very comfortable arrangement that left her free to disappear for months on end working for MSF, and then once back, take only those jobs she wanted in order to guarantee an income. So she kept herself free at lunchtimes and tried to join B and Linda at least three times per week. Hospital food was hospital food the world over, and if in Darwin it was marginally less disgusting than in Doncaster, Dortmund or Delhi, it was still pretty bland and boring, so Becca tried to tickle B’s taste buds with different types of food. So far, B had enjoyed everything, except that it turned out she hated mayonnaise. But apart from that it was all good. Yesterday, on a whim, and wondering if B was hankering after typical British fare, Becca got fish and chips from a seaside shack and they ate them in the garden, with wooden forks and pickled onions. Linda gave Becca a fond smile when she saw what she had done. Linda’s parents had migrated to Australia from Cornwall when Linda was 10, so fish and chips was a bit of a standard in the Chegwin household. B obviously liked it and cleared her polystyrene tray happily.

“I remember this from somewhere”, she said, her eyes sparkling.

“Thought you might,” Becca was smug.

“And I have a confession to make,” B said. “I think I remember my name.”

Becca and Linda exchanged glances. This was progress. This would allow Becca to begin the process of seeking her repatriation and reuniting her with her family, if she had any.

“Remember when you were running through all those names starting with B last week? And I said none of them rang any bells?”

Becca nodded.

“Well, one did, but I didn’t want to say in case I was wrong. Now I think it was Bernadette and people called me Bernie.”

“Wow, well OK, B, I mean Bernie, that takes us forward. But what about a family name?”

“Nothing I’m afraid.”

“And I think you were a doctor”, Linda stated baldly. Becca raised her eyebrows.

“Every time we go to physio and Bernie talks to the doctor there, she uses terms that I’m sure most lay people don’t know.”

“Is that right, Bernie? Do you think you were a doctor?”

“And this,” Linda seemed to have a bit of a bee in her bonnet, not giving Bernie time to answer, and Becca was taken by surprise. Linda reached forward and pulled down the front of the grey V-neck T-shirt Bernie was wearing. Under the soft cotton fabric was the top of a long pink scar.

“How did you get that, Bernie?” she asked.

Bernie dropped her eyes for a moment then raised her head and looked straight at Linda.

“Some sort of explosion, roadside IED I think. I was in a jeep. Can’t remember where but it was some years ago now.”

“And what was the damage exactly?”

“Ah, pseudoaneurysm of the left ventricle, C5 and C6 spinal fractures, ” she said succinctly. Becca’s mouth was open in amazement.

“Hold on, hold on…so you remember your first name, how you got this injury and the medical names of your injuries? Holy cow, Bernie, you must be a doctor with an NGO or something like that, doing war zones. And you,” turning to her partner, “how did you know what to ask her?”

“Piecing bits together, little snippets of conversation. But I think our Bernie’s been holding back on us.”

“Is that right?” Becca addressed Bernie, who looked a bit shamefaced and couldn’t meet their eyes. Becca dropped to a crouch, to the level of Bernie’s face in her wheelchair.

“Bernie, if there’s something you’re not telling us out of fear, I think you owe it to us to let us help you. Look, mate, I’m invested in you. It’s all my fault you’re here. But we’re not just gonna send you back if that’s something you don’t want. You need to come clean with us, and we’ll protect your interests, I promise.”

Becca was aware of Linda frowning, and that usually meant she was going to get a rocket when they were on their own, but although the words had come spontaneously, they were words Becca really meant.

“I’m not… _lying_ to you, exactly, it’s just that I remember fragments and I can’t always connect them in my head. There’s something holding me back, something that makes me afraid to find my real identity”, Bernie confessed. “And, yes, I’m worried about being discharged and ..then what? By the way, I think Linda is right about me being a doctor. I’m pretty sure I was a trauma surgeon.”

Becca got to her feet and made eye contact with Linda. This was big. They had a runaway UK trauma surgeon in their hospital, so why weren’t the powers that be screaming to get her back?

**Mogadishu, Somalia, Monday July 29 th 2019, **

When Alex finally returned to Mogadishu- having taken some extra days’ sick leave after her kidney operation, Colonel de Vries had some news for her.

“Major Wolfe’s handbag has been found at the airport”, he said, the moment Alex walked into his office. “It was a few days ago and it looks intact – apparently it had been kicked into a corner and hidden under rubble. I wanted you to check it before we sent it back to her family. Make sure nothing important is missing, or…” he tailed off, looking down.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Alex said, touched by his thoughtfulness. “And there’s been no word otherwise of any other ..er traces? DNA? Or unclaimed patients?”

“We’ll have to wait much longer for DNA from that soup out there I’m afraid. There have been a couple of requests from other organizations- MSF Australia has lost a doctor called Brenda Williamson, but there’s nothing that fits Major Wolfe’s profile. I’ll let you know, of course, if there’s any further news.”

Alone with the bag, Alex went through it. Bernie’s passport, her UN ID and military dog tags that, for some reason, she hadn’t been wearing that day. A Visa and an Amex card, her iPhone. No money but that was hardly surprising. It was a miracle to get the iPhone back. Alex knew her passcode – it was her birthdate, Bernie never did have much imagination with passwords, and she opened the phone to see if there were any messages. Aside from the usual everyday stuff, there was a text from UNSOS HR telling her that her luggage had arrived from Nairobi, so that explained her trip to the airport. Then she checked WhatsApp and saw only chats with Cameron and Charlotte. There was no mention of Alex in any of the messages Her email folder was sparse, mostly messages to and from Cameron and Charlotte. But in the drafts folder, there were 4 unsent messages to Serena, the first dating back to March, when she had been in Nairobi, the latest just the day before the bomb explosion. Alex frantically checked all the sent messages and found that not one had been sent to Serena. She felt a shiver down her spine on reading the messages to Serena. If this phone made it back to the UK, and if Cameron showed Serena the messages, it would be clear that Alex had been lying about their engagement. On the other hand, the messages would certainly substantiate the fact that Serena, and not Alex, had been the love of Bernie’s life. They might bring comfort to Serena. Or they might just make the grief harder to bear. Alex deleted them. Sleeping dogs and all that.

_**March 21 st, 2019**: Sorry for the long silence. I think about you all the time. Just hope you’re doing well and rebuilding your life. It’s strange without you and I think it will always be. No one could ever take your place_

_**May 1 st, 2019:** How time flies. I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re OK. I do think about you. All the time, in fact. There’s a big Serena-shaped hole in my heart and I’m not sure it will ever be filled._

_**June 2 nd, 2019:** Serena. It’s been too long, I’ve left it too long, I’m still a rubbish communicator. But I just want to let you know that I’m fine. Moving to Mogadishu in a couple of weeks. Not lonely except in one sense. It was always you, Serena, there could never be anyone else_

_**July 7 th, 2019**: It’s been 7 months and I’ve waited before contacting you. Giving you a chance to rebuild your life. I’ve tried, too, but you’re still there in my head. Every day. Maybe it’s time to talk?_

**Darwin, Australia, Monday, July 29 th 2019, **

Becca had kept the day free and turned up at 10 am sharp to collect Bernie from the ward. Linda had everything ready and the discharge papers processed. There had been a discussion- a debate, in fact, which had raged over several days. Becca couldn’t say she’d won, battles with Linda were more about finding an accommodation than outright winning. Linda’s concern was that Bernie might have family – husband, children parents etc waiting for her and that by not pushing for her identification with the relevant authorities in Mogadishu, they were holding back the process. Becca’s reply was that Bernie was an adult woman with amnesia, she deserved a break in which to recover as much memory as possible and decide what she should be doing. The next question was where Bernie could go on discharge. Becca suggested their spare room. Linda worried that without an ID and income, Bernie would feel as if she was burdening them. Becca advised crossing that bridge when they came to it. Their house was paid for, thanks to Becca’s parents’, and they both had secure incomes. They spent little and would have absolutely no hardship in accommodating Bernie even for several months. Becca promised to help Bernie find out who she was and sort herself out as soon as any memory returned. Alastair barked and wagged his tail, happy to have an extra person to be fussed over.

“What if she doesn’t like dogs?” Linda asked.

Becca rolled her eyes. “Alastair’s practically human. She’ll love him. And, if I’m not mistaken, she’s also gay, so she’ll fit right in.”

“How do you make that out?”

Becca tapped her nose and smiled.

And so it was. Linda had gone to Target to score some cheap duds for Bernie while she was still recovering. Becca had made up the bed in the spare room and put out towels, a new toothbrush, hair brush etc. and a selection of toiletries in the bathroom cabinet. Then she made the famous Travers carrot cake and put a tub of vanilla macadamia ice cream in the freezer.

Nevertheless, she was nervous when she went to collect Bernie. Bernie had had no say in the matter, really, and no choice since the hospital had finished with her. Becca had assured MSF that Bernie had no wish for them to be responsible for her any more, and that she would happily welcome her into their home until she regained full memory. She was out of the wheelchair and walking with a stick but was getting stronger every day. She had been showered, her hair washed, and dressed in a new soft grey T-shirt and navy leggings, with a comfortable pair of ballet-pump crocs on her feet. She looked, in a word, gorgeous, thought Becca, handing her a pair of sunglasses to cut the glare from the sun.

Bernie was nervous. While she had been in hospital she had had no control over her surroundings or her treatment. She could tell that the doctors were competent, that the nurses knew their jobs and that the system worked efficiently. Every now and again she got little flashes of memory when she would see a face or think she heard a familiar voice, and she had to shake herself. She was in Australia and she had never been here before, so it was not possible to remember anything about it. She had a growing sense that her flashbacks were from the UK, the country she came from. The voices, accents, seemed to fit with hers. Australian English was very different. She often had to ask for repetition of words or phrases.

“ _Fancy a walk in the garden this arvo_?” a nurse might ask. Or “ _pay no attention to that one over there, he’s a few roos loose in the top paddock_ ”. On one occasion she overheard one nurse say to another as they changed her dressings “ _Jeez, that ENT consultant, he’s as camp as a row of tents_ ”, and as her brain struggled to catch up, the meaning suddenly hit her and she burst into a loud guffaw that had the nurses joining in with her, the guffaw morphing into a honking sound that made them laugh even harder. From then on, the nurses did everything they could to make her laugh and “the Bernie honk” became a ward classic.

Leaving this familiar and comfortable environment was making her anxious, although, for some reason she couldn’t quite grasp, Becca, the nurse who had been with her since Mogadishu, and Linda, her partner and Senior Ward Sister, seemed to want her to stay with them. So Bernie went. Becca rushed to open the door of her seven year old Honda CRV and Bernie slid in awkwardly. But when Becca went to start the engine, there was an ominous click and silence. She giggled nervously and tried again. Nothing.

“Um..this hasn’t happened before”, she said a little red in the face, getting out and lifting the bonnet.

“Can you try starting her again?” she yelled at Bernie as she peered inside the hood.

Bernie turned the key and this time got a whining noise followed by a click and silence. Bernie wound down the window.

“Alternator might be cactus”, she offered.

“Hey, do you know about these things?” Becca asked in surprise.

Bernie smiled and fought her way out of the car. She joined Becca at the front and peered inside. Suddenly she reached a hand in and adjusted a wire. “Battery connections could be loose. Try again.”

Becca went back and tried again. This time the engine turned over but spluttered and failed.

“Gotta spanner?” Bernie asked.

Becca went to the boot to her toolkit and got a spanner, handing it wordlessly to Bernie, who reached inside and adjusted several screws, pulling out one wire and completely reattaching it.

“Try her now”, she said.

The engine turned over. Bernie dropped the bonnet and limped back to the passenger seat, depositing the spanner on the floor.

“Jeez, you’re a fucken miracle, Bernie”, Becca said, admiringly as she put the car in gear and headed out. “Were you a motor mechanic or something in a previous life?”

Bernie shrugged, what could she say? She herself had no idea where that knowledge had suddenly sprung from.

“Listen, I’m a tad nervous about this car, so how about we pass by my brother’s garage so he can check we won’t have any more problems? I‘m gonna give you a tour of Darwin before we go home for lunch, but this won’t take more than five minutes.”

“Fine, go ahead,” Bernie said.

Becca’s brother was on the forecourt fixing a jeep when they arrived.

“Marko, the car’s got some wiring problem. Just check her over for me would you? Oh and this is Bernie. Bernie, Marko Travers, best mechanic in the Northern Territory.”

Mark was mid-thirties, tall and solid with his hair in a man-bun, overalls unbuttoned to mid-chest. He came out wiping his hands on a rag.

“Nice to meet you, Bernie. OK Sis, open her up, let’s take a look.”

A few minutes’ poking around and trying the starting motor revealed a fault in the battery wiring. Mark cleaned the wiring and connections and replaced two faulty wires.

“Easy peasy Bec.”

“Bernie diagnosed the problem”, Becca said proudly. Mark raised his eyebrows.

“You know cars?” he asked.

Bernie felt awkward. “A bit”.

Mark looked at Becca. “Hey my apprentice quit yesterday and I need a helping hand. Wanna give it a try, Bernie?”

Bernie felt herself blushing and anxiety taking hold. Becca patted her hand.

“Bad timing, Bro. Bernie’s just got out of the hospital. Let’s see how we go and I’ll get back to you when she feels more up to it.”

As they drove off, Becca smiled at Bernie. “Well, there’s offer number one. So relax and enjoy. The world is your oyster.”


	3. Jigsaw Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie's memory is coming back, but in bits and pieces. She settles into Becca and Linda's house and familiarises herself with the surroundings. Mark comes over and tries to talk her into doing some driving for him. Becca gets a call from Chiara in Mogadishu telling her that a certain Alex Dawson is still looking for Bernie. Chiara decides to stall until Bernie has recovered more memory. Bernie reveals that she used to drive tanks. And it becomes clear that she's gay.

**Darwin, Australia, Sunday, August 4 th 2019**

Bernie’s first week out of the hospital had passed quickly and, to Bernie’s surprise, she had found herself fitting in with Becca and Linda quite seamlessly. Despite their laid- back approach, Bernie could see that they were a highly organised team, and clearly soulmates. Watching their interactions tugged at Bernie’s memory in peculiar ways. On the first morning, she had woken early and, pulling on a T-shirt over her vest and pyjama shorts, she limped out to the front porch to get some air. The sun had risen 30 minutes before and the air was cool and sweet. Alastair had padded out behind her and she leaned against the balustrade rubbing his soft ears. He was a very loveable dog- Becca insisted he was an excellent guard dog, but all Bernie had seen him do so far was wag his tail and nuzzle up to people. As she stood there taking everything in, enjoying the cool of the morning and the scent of tropical flowers, trying not to think too hard, but just breathe and enjoy, she heard footsteps behind her crossing the hallway, then Linda’s voice calling to Becca - “Is that coffee ready?” “Yes Ma’am”, Becca called back. “Hot and strong, just how you like it”.

The phrase jolted something in Bernie’s memory. The accent was wrong, but she could hear a voice in her head saying the words “hot and strong”. She tried to find the connection but nothing came, so she stored it for future reference and went to join the couple for breakfast, laid out on the picnic table out back. All the food was very familiar to Bernie. Each day in hospital she had been given a menu and told to make her choices. When she read the names of the dishes, she knew instinctively that scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, porridge and cereal were familiar items that aroused no particular negative feelings. One day there was an item called “black pudding”, and she looked at it for a full thirty seconds before deciding that it would be best to avoid that, even if she couldn’t imagine what it was. Linda and Becca ate healthily but heartily and Bernie found she enjoyed everything she was offered. On that first morning Becca had produced a selection of pastries, and Bernie had found herself gravitating towards the _pain au chocolat_ without really understanding why. A mouthful of the pastry, chased by a swig of coffee produced the most delightful sensation. So she did it again. And again. But when the pastry was gone, Bernie had a sudden acute sensation of loss which must have shown on her face, because Linda urged her to take another. Bernie politely declined- it wasn’t more food she needed as much as the reminder of something tantalisingly out of reach.

These strange jolts of some deeply buried memory continued to intrude at odd times, and Bernie began to have the sensation of living two parallel lives. Here, in Australia, she was nobody, and especially not a famous trauma surgeon. There were no pressures on her. When she awoke in the morning it was with surprise to find that she had slept through the night. Of course, the drugs she was given in hospital must have been largely responsible for that, but she did feel rested and she could tell it was not her usual condition. Yet all the time there was something tugging at her, something dark, like a black cloud taunting her with its presence, still way over the horizon. She both wanted and didn’t want to know what lay beyond.

By the end of the week, she had built the beginnings of a picture of her old life from snapshots triggered by what she saw and heard in her new environment, but she didn’t share them with her hosts. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, and the key pieces that would unlock the mystery scene were still missing. She was also troubled by the fact that she had no money and was completely dependent on Becca and Linda. This felt wrong, but at the same time she had to accept it for the time being. Then, on the fourth day, sitting in the car with Becca as she ran some errands, she saw a bank with a logo she recognised.

“What’s that building over there?” she asked Becca as they paused at traffic lights.

“What? Citibank?”

“Yes. I mean, obviously it’s a bank, but is it a worldwide bank? Do they have branches in other countries?”

“Oh yes, it’s global”, Becca replied. “You’d find it all over Asia, Africa, Europe, the Middle East…why? Does that ring a bell?”

“It just seems familiar, as if I’ve seen it before,” Bernie replied vaguely.

“Well, yeah, it’s pretty common so I’m sure you have.” And Bernie said no more about it, just added the information to the growing index in her head. 

Bernie felt in her bones that she was gay. Living with two lesbians troubled her not at all. It seemed perfectly natural. They were affectionate with each other in front of Bernie, but it was clear that they had been together for a long time and that passion was kept for the privacy of their bedroom. It was not their behaviour that Bernie reacted to, but their home was full of books and CDs and DVDs, which they encouraged her to explore. Many of these had a lesbian theme, and it was one evening, when all three were watching a British TV series in which two very attractive female characters shared a passionate kiss that Bernie could feel herself getting warm all over. And when the petite, dark haired one finally backed out of taking it to the next stage, Bernie felt disappointed.

“Idiot”, Linda moaned, throwing a cushion at the TV. “I mean who wouldn’t want to fuck Gillian Anderson?”

“Well, actually,” Bernie confessed, “I kind of preferred the other one.”

Becca and Linda looked at her for a moment in astonishment, then Linda high fived Becca and said. “You win”.

“She wins what?” Bernie asked, puzzled.

“Becca insisted you were gay, but I wasn’t sure. Now I am”.

Bernie just smiled.

**Mogadishu, Sunday, August 4 th 2019**

Alex was finding it hard to work. Not just the heat and the constant battle against external forces that seemed determined to thwart them at every turn, no, Alex usually thrived on that. It was Bernie. The more Alex thought about finding body armour with no body or body parts attached to it, the more convinced she was that Bernie had not been wearing any. Then there was the handbag. Thrown clear in the explosion maybe, but to survive intact? If Bernie had been holding it and had been caught anywhere near the centre of the blast, the handbag would have been pulverised along with Bernie. It did not add up. Colonel de Vries had sent out details of missing people to all the private and public hospitals as well as to the mortuaries. Alex herself had done the rounds of the mortuaries with one of her colleagues. Bernie had not shown up. Alex could perfectly well understand why the Colonel would tick the box “Missing, presumed dead”. But something was nagging at Alex and she couldn’t let it go. So before sending the handbag back to the UK to Cameron, she had decided to initiate further requests for information on missing people, and this time she started with the Madina Hospital, where she knew a certain Italian neurosurgeon called Chiara Petrelli.

**Darwin, Monday, August 5 th 2019**

Becca had just come out of a long and difficult operation on an unlucky (and somewhat reckless) member of a biker gang, victim of an RTC. As she reached her locker, she heard her phone ringing. She just got to it in time to answer. It was an overseas number.

“Becca Travers.”

“Hi Becca, this is Chiara Petrelli, the surgeon from the Madina Hospital you spoke with in Mogadishu about the patient with amnesia that you took to Australia? You gave me your card and I still have your phone number.”

Becca’s hand dropped from the locker key and she sat down, concentrating. She had been half expecting a call like this.

“Yes, Chiara, how can I help you?”

“Look, this may be a little bit sensitive but I wanted to talk to you personally before the hospital and MSF get involved.”

“What’s the problem?” Becca tried to keep her voice calm.

“I’ve been approached by a Major Alex Dawson, a British doctor in the RAMC attached to the UNSOS Level II hospital here in Mogadishu. They have a British trauma surgeon missing since the blast that has been assumed dead. Alex has been to the UK to talk to the family but she isn’t convinced yet her colleague is dead, there’s no DNA, for example. They’ve also recovered her handbag with her passport, phone etc. inside. The thing is, Becca, she sent me a scan of this lady’s passport and I think it matches our amnesia patient. Has she recovered any memory, by the way?”

“It’s slowly coming back but we don’t have a full name or who she works for.”

“I see. And what first name has she given you, if I may ask?”

“Er..Bernie, Bernadette, that is.”

“I see. Well, the passport is of a Berenice Griselda Wolfe, born January 1965 in a place called ..,” she hesitated, “Shroozberry. Is that how you say it?”

“Sounds about right. Shrewsbury, yeah. Berenice, you say? Well I guess that’d shorten to Bernie alright.” Her heart was now beating faster and she held her breath.

“Well you see, I know this Alex Dawson. We have been stationed in the same places before and we are …not friends exactly, but friendly acquaintances. She’s gay and we belong to some of the same online groups. She wanted me to try to match Berenice’s details to patients in our hospital who came in after the explosions. I’m a neurosurgeon not a trauma specialist, so I told her I had to go to the records and ask permission to search. I said it might take a couple of days.”

Becca understood that she- or rather, Bernie, was being given some sort of reprieve, but she couldn’t work out why Chiara would do that.

“So you called me first. That’s great, Chiara. But what’s holding you back from giving this Alex Dawson the information that we had a possible patient match?”

“I wanted to check the patient’s status. If she has not recovered full memory, and someone goes flying off to Australia, it might be a big shock for her. I thought I would talk to you and find out more and ..and go slowly.”

Becca got the feeling there was a good deal more to this that the Italian doctor was not telling her, but she played along.

“OK, well look, Chiara, at the moment Bernie is staying with me and my partner because the hospital discharged her and she didn’t know where to go. We’re in the process of piecing things together, but we’re still quite a long way off. Could you email me the scan of that passport, and let me talk to Bernie and see if anything comes back to her? Hold Alex off for a couple of days. Then add me to your contacts in WhatsApp- I assume you use that? OK, right, then we can message and talk as things progress.”

“Thank you, Becca, that sounds fine. A good plan.”

“Ok, talk soon, then. I’ll text you my personal email, OK?”

Becca disconnected the call, sent her email address by text message and slowly changed back into her street clothes. By the time she was ready to leave, her phone had beeped with an incoming email. She quickly opened the attachment and her heart sank, though why that should be, she couldn’t fathom. Surely Bernie would be happy to be returned to her family and her Army unit?

When she arrived home, she was surprised to find her brother, Mark, sitting on the back deck with Bernie, four empty beer bottles on the table. Bernie’s cheeks were pink and she was animated.

“Hey Sis,” Mark greeted her. “Been waiting for you.”

Becca quirked an eyebrow and went to the fridge to get a beer for herself, noting that Mark had obviously come bearing new supplies. She leaned against the kitchen door sipping and wondering what her brother had been up to. But it was Bernie who spoke first.

“Becca, Mark wants me to do some driving for him,” she exclaimed excitedly.

Becca swallowed noisily. “So how’s that gonna work, Marko? Bernie has no driving licence, no ID.”

He grinned, rocking back on his chair.

“Well, you remember Jenna’s Mum, Bryony?” Jenna was his last girlfriend, much younger than him.

“The one who went into anaphylactic shock at the wheel and crashed over in Kakadu last year? You went out to pick up her car, as I recall.”

“Right. So she left her licence in the car and no one came to collect it. I was going to return it, but then we broke up, Jenna and me, and I put it in a drawer and forgot about it. She was about fifty and blonde. I reckon Bernie could use that just in case anyone stops her, but you know what the police are like around here, pretty lax unless they’re chasing drunks or drug dealers. “

“Right, but what if Bernie gets sussed? I mean, that’s big trouble.”

“Oh I don’t know. I think I could handle the local police”, Bernie said suddenly, her eyes sparkling and her tone positively authoritative.

Becca looked at her in surprise and admiration but before she could say anything Mark interrupted her thoughts. “Cool your jets, Sis, I think it’s a great idea. She needs some cash and a way of passing time till her situation is sorted. I need a helper. She told me she used to drive tanks, so I reckon that’s fair dinkum.”

Becca collapsed onto a chair. “Tanks?”

Bernie shrugged off her embarrassment. “I’m pretty sure I was in the Army,” she said.

“Next thing you’ll be telling me you know thirteen ways to kill me with your bare hands,” Becca joked.

“Well maybe I do”, Bernie grinned. She seemed utterly transformed, Becca thought, by the conversation and the idea of doing something a bit risky. Or was it just the booze talking?

Three hours and many beers and several joints later, after a barbecue that turned into a bit of a party once Linda got home, Becca had not been able to find a space in the conversation to raise the question of Bernie’s identity or the request from Mogadishu. Bernie didn’t smoke pot with them, but boy, she sure could down those beers, considering she must have been abstinent for quite a while beforehand. She had finished her course of antibiotics and seemed well on the way to recovery. At first Becca had been a little worried that Mark would encourage her to get legless, but it soon became obvious that she was the one in control, and he the one gradually losing it.

When they finally fell into bed, and Mark had crashed on the sofa, Linda said.

“Bernie’s really amazing, don’t you think? A few weeks ago blown up in an explosion and today matching Marko with the drinks and talking about driving tanks. I reckon her memory’s gonna come back pretty soon.”

“Yeah,” Becca yawned.

“You were a bit quiet, babe. Something up?”

“Mmmmm…….not important right now. Tell you tomorrow.” And she fell asleep, dreaming of a beautiful, blonde Army major driving a tank through Mogadishu.

**Mogadishu, Tuesday, August 6 th 2019**

Sister Mariam had been at work for an hour when there was a buzzing in her pocket and a text message appeared.

_Can you slip out for a coffee this morning?_

She smiled to herself, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks.

 _Meet you in the café in 15’_ she texted back.

The fifteen minutes remaining of her ward round passed with agonizing slowness before Mariam removed her apron, smoothed down her navy ward sister’s uniform and headed to the ground floor café in the hospital. Chiara was already there, 2 Turkish coffees on the table in front of her.

“Hmm..keen, are we?” Mariam said cheekily.

“Only where you’re concerned,” Chiara replied, her dark eyes showing a depth of feeling that they could not outwardly express in their workplace.

“So what’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until tonight?”

“Any excuse to see your beautiful face, but also, a slight dilemma,” and Chiara launched into the story she had told Becca about Alex Dawson and their mystery patient, ‘B’.

“Well, looking at this passport I’d say we have the right person”, Mariam said, looking puzzled. ‘B’ is Berenice Wolfe, obviously. Why not put UNSOS out of their misery?”

“Because Alex is on a fishing trip,” Chiara stated bluntly. “And I’m not so sure she’ll even tell UNSOS but will take leave and go haring off to Australia. Berenice was her friend, and, from what she told me, ex-lover. Very ‘ex’, from some years back, it seems. The last time I saw her, socially, that is, was at a conference in Nairobi where she told me she was working with her ex who was still besotted with some woman she left behind in England. Alex was sure she could win her back, she even invited me to bet on it. I didn’t, of course. This is Berenice, I’m sure of it, RAMC Trauma Surgeon, older than Alex.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Mariam. “And what about the woman in England? She thinks Berenice is dead. Shouldn’t she, and the family, be informed first if Berenice is still alive?”

“Yes, that’s what I think, too. But Becca said that Berenice- she called her ‘Bernie’ – had not fully recovered her memory, so she may not remember the family or the woman in England. “

  
“Whereas, if Alex shows up, she may get to stake her claim without Bernie being given a chance at least to make an informed choice,” Mariam finished for her.

“I knew you were more than just a beautiful face”, Chiara smiled seductively.

“Stop it, Dr. Petrelli, I’m on duty,” Mariam said primly.

“Right now maybe. But tonight I’ve given my cook the night off and we’ll be alone in my flat.”

Mariam shivered. There were so few opportunities for them to be together as lovers, and in such a homophobic country they had to go to great lengths to keep their relationship secret. Chiara had recently moved out of hospital accommodation into a flat attached to a large villa owned by the Italian Embassy. She had her own entrance and a certain degree of privacy. This would be the first time they could be alone with no danger of being interrupted for longer than a few minutes.

“I admit I’m nervous,” Mariam confessed.

"I am a little, too”, Chiara said, “but there’s no need. We can go as slow as you like”, she reassured the younger woman.

“That’s not what I mean. I’m one hundred percent sure I want to spend the night with you, but I’m afraid of being seen.”

“Let me deal with that, _cara_ ,” Chiara said. “I’ll always protect you. And we'll be on Italian Embassy territory and you’re not Somali. Don’t worry.”

“I trust you”, smiled Mariam. “And I’m assuming that you want me to agree to say nothing about this conversation or to discuss Berenice with anyone, is that it?”

“Yes. I’m going to tell Alex that we have no unclaimed patients in our records, that all those admitted after the explosion have been discharged into the care of specific organizations or Embassies, which is literally true. Then she’ll go round the other hospitals and it will be a while before I hear any more from her, I’m sure.”

“And what about Bernie?”

“She’s safe in Australia. For now. I’ve given Becca the passport scan and suggested she use it to try to help her regain her memory. Only Bernie can choose where she wants to be and who she wants to be with, don’t you think?”

***

At two in the morning, Mariam woke suddenly in the unfamiliar room. She tensed, then the sound of Chiara breathing next to her calmed her and she remembered where she was and how the events of the previous evening had only confirmed what she already knew: that she was falling deeply in love with the gorgeous Italian neurosurgeon. She sighed, her body sated but her brain going into overdrive. Chiara sensed her wakefulness and rolled over to face her.

“I can hear you thinking,” she complained, kissing her tenderly on her bare shoulder.

“I’m thinking about Bernie,” Mariam admitted. “Do you think we could try to find out more about the woman she was in love with in England? Just in case, you know…..”

“You are such a romantic,” Chiara teased her, “but I was thinking along similar lines. Let me see if I can find a source of information from among my contacts.”


	4. When The World Comes In Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The RAMC come to return Bernie's things and tell Cameron that her DNA was found at the blast scene. Meanwhile Alex is slowly giving up hope, but a chance meeting at the Madina Hospital with a nurse from Nairobi gives her a new avenue to chase down. Mariam is alarmed that Alex may discover that Bernie is alive and in Australia so she warns Chiara who searches among her contacts for a surgeon who has worked at Holby, in an attempt to discover who Berenice's lover was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus- life intruded as it tends to. This is a double chapter posting to tide you over while I disappear from this fic for a while to work on another project. But never fear, the story is well mapped out and updates will follow. In these chapters, the plot thickens. Will Bernie recover all her memory? Will Serena find out if Bernie is still alive? Read on....

**Thursday, August 15 th, Holby, UK**

Serena had sat in her office in a kind of sick dread as the Military Police came once again to ask for Cameron. She asked Donna to find him and send him in. When he arrived, he paled instantly and looked at her with pleading eyes.

“Stay, please”, he said.

Serena’s hands were shaking so much that she sat on them. Cameron remained standing, swaying slightly, as the red cap handed over a box containing the personal effects from Bernie’s room, including her handbag containing her wallet, passport, and phone, which had been forwarded from Mogadishu. Cameron took it and put it on the floor, barely conscious of what he was doing. Serena knew instinctively that something else was coming. Too right. The red cap then proceeded to tell Cameron that his mother’s DNA had been detected at the scene of the blast but that it was not enough to send a body back for burial or cremation.

“What do you mean, not enough?” he blurted, horrible visions of smashed, torn apart bodies filling his mind.

“I mean, it’s possible to know that she was there, but in all the chaos and mix up of DNA that inevitably results from a powerful explosion, finding an actual body is impossible. I’m sorry,” the man said gently, “but it would have been instantaneous and she would have known nothing about it.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better, is it?” Cameron snapped, his eyes as dark as his mother’s used to get when roused to anger.

“Cameron!” Serena warned him, “the man’s just doing his job.”

Cameron quieted and his lip trembled as he collapsed onto the bench. The red cap then turned to Serena and said “I have a letter here for the family from Colonel de Vries, Major Wolfe’s commanding officer. Perhaps you could…..?” . He put the letter on her desk.

She nodded and he offered his hand to Cameron, who shook it limply, and as soon as the man had gone, he burst into tears. Serena moved over to the bench and wrapped her arms round him. Words wouldn’t come. What could she say? She was hurting as much as he was. When he had calmed down a little, they both looked in the handbag, and Cameron made an observation that struck the first spark of doubt in Serena’s mind.

“How could her handbag be virtually untouched, and even her phone, if she was blown to bits?” Serena had no answer for him.

He tried the phone but it was dead, so Serena, who had the same model, took it and put it on charge. While they waited for it to come to life, Serena picked up the letter.

“Could you open it, Serena?” pleaded Cameron. “And read it aloud?”

Serena swallowed but complied.

_To the family of Major Berenice Wolfe,_

_It is with great sadness that I am today sending the personal effects of Major Wolfe back to you after we have exhausted all possibilities of finding her alive. In the month since the explosions which wrecked part of the UNSOS Level II hospital and the airport in Mogadishu, we have painstakingly combed the entire area, searched in hospitals, mortuaries and interviewed witnesses to locate our missing officers. Major Wolfe is one of three officers who have not been traced after the blast, and she will be sorely missed._

_It is a further blow to have to inform you that DNA matching Major Wolfe was detected at the scene, although not of a significant enough quantity to make it possible to return any remains to you. I fully appreciate how painful this must be and I send you my most sincere condolences. Major Wolfe was one of the most outstanding officers and trauma surgeons I have ever worked with. Our time together was very short, only five days, yet long enough for me to appreciate her exceptional qualities. The UN, the RAMC, the people of Mogadishu as well as yourselves have lost an exemplary doctor, soldier and woman who made the world a better place and who dedicated her life to serving those less fortunate._

_I am due to retire shortly, and in completion of my duties I will be reporting at the end of this month to my office in Brussels, and to the Regimental HQ of 5 Rifles, in Wiltshire, from which Major Wolfe and several other RAMC medical staff were seconded to UNSOS Mogadishu. I would be willing to travel to Holby to meet with you if you so wished, or indeed to arrange a meeting at the Regimental HQ, and to answer any questions you may have about Major Wolfe’s work in Mogadishu and about the circumstances of her death._

_Please feel free to contact me for any further information you may require, or to arrange a meeting. I am at your disposal._

_With my deepest condolences,_

_Colonel Maxime de Vries, (Medical Component of the Belgian Armed Forces) UNSOS Level II Hospital, Mogadishu._

Serena lowered the letter and looked at Cameron.

“Would you like to meet him?” she asked.

**Thursday, August 15 th, Mogadishu, Somalia**

Alex was profoundly depressed. Her search of the hospitals had thrown up no sign of Bernie ever having been in one of them, and when Col. de Vries had given her the news that Bernie’s DNA had been found at the scene of the explosion, it appeared to confirm their worst fears. She had been holding out especially for Chiara Petrelli and the Madina Hospital, as it was one of the few places equipped for trauma cases, and usually one of the first places to take victims of explosions, but Chiara had found no record of any unclaimed British patients, and it appeared that her search was at an end. Finally she had had to notify Col. de Vries that all enquiries had been exhausted, and she had packed up Bernie’s things, including her phone in the handbag, to send them back to the UK.

Alex had a period of leave due in a few weeks and she felt restless and dispirited. Bernie should have been there with her planning their escape. Like the time they had gone to Cyprus – or rather, she had dragged Bernie to Cyprus. In the end, Bernie had enjoyed it, the sun, sea and a few days’ rest away from the hospital in Nairobi. But Alex knew in her heart that Bernie would rather have been there with Serena. So this time Alex needed to escape to somewhere totally different, somewhere that held no memories of Bernie.

Colonel de Vries was gearing up for his leave and his retirement, and in the process he noticed that the medical file on one of their surviving officers who had been injured in the blast was missing from their records. He checked the log and saw that the man had been discharged from the Madina hospital 10 days after the explosion, and had been sent back to the UK to recuperate. He called Alex and asked her to request a copy of the file from the hospital. Alex went one better- thinking she might be able to find Chiara and have a chat and a coffee, she went there during her lunch break, taking an armoured jeep and a driver.

The hospital was surprisingly quiet, and she found her way to the trauma ward without difficulty. At the desk was a handsome, crisply uniformed African Ward Sister who looked up from under the longest eyelashes Alex had ever seen. Alex arranged her features into a friendly smile.

“Good afternoon. Major Alex Dawson, UNSOS Level II Hospital. I’m looking for the file of one of our officers who was discharged on July 19th. Captain Eric Fosse?”

Sister Mariam smiled back briefly and tapped her pencil on the desk. “July 19th….let me see…..Nurse!” she called suddenly, spotting a figure crossing the ward in front of her.

Nurse Joyce Ndungu turned and made towards them.

“Yes Sister. Oh… Major Dawson!” recognising Alex.

“Hi Joyce,” said Alex, happy to see a familiar face.

“You two know each other?” Sister Mariam asked in surprise.

“Major Dawson was an anaesthetist in my hospital, the Aga Khan in Nairobi”, the Kenyan nurse replied, smiling broadly.

“Well, only for a week, before you got sent here,” Alex said.

“I see.” Mariam appeared to be thinking. “Well, that’s a convenient coincidence. Joyce, Major Dawson needs the file of Captain Fosse who was discharged on July 19th. Could you take her over to the records department and sort it out, please?’

“Surely, my pleasure,” Nurse Ndungu replied, and led Alex off down a corridor.

Mariam thanked her lucky stars that she could do a good poker face because she had nearly panicked when she realised that Alex knew Joyce Ndungu, who had joined them from Nairobi at the start of the New Year. Mariam realised that Nurse Ndungu had been caring for Berenice, but of course, she hadn’t recognised her, which meant that their paths had not crossed in Nairobi. As far as Joyce Ndungu or any of the other staff knew, Berenice had been an MSF Australia patient, so she didn’t think there was any risk of her giving Alex any information. 

Joyce Ndungu sauntered cheerfully into Records, closely followed by Alex, and while they waited for the clerk to locate the file in the system, Alex asked her whether she had been working with the blast victims. Joyce nodded, yes, she was a trained trauma nurse.

“It’s just that my friend, Major Berenice Wolfe, disappeared in the blast, and I wondered whether…well, maybe it’s silly, but whether she didn’t die but ended up in hospital and no one could identify her. Did you know her? She set up that big new Trauma Unit in the Kenyatta University Hospital. She also came to the Aga Khan hospital with me, but it was after you left Kenya.”

Joyce Ndungu shook her head. She had come to Nairobi from her home town of Thika, where she had been working for several years, and although she had done her trauma training in the University Hospital in Nairobi, it was before Bernie’s time.

“I know she’s probably dead, but I can’t help wondering whether maybe she lost her memory or something and ended up where no one could identify her…”

Joyce thought for a minute. “It’s very common for trauma patients to suffer amnesia. We had quite a few after the blast. But they were all discharged.”

“Any British?” asked Alex.

Joyce shook her head. “No, we had a group of Australians, and two amnesia cases among them, but MSF Australia took them back.”

Alex’s face fell. At this moment the clerk beckoned them over and gave Alex a slim printed file. In Somalia, although hospitals had digitised their data, it was always safer to keep paper backups, and hospitals did not email their results outside their own network for fear of data theft.

Alex signed for the file and they set off back down the corridor. Joyce was thinking. “There was an Australian trauma nurse who was here every day with the MSF patients, and she organised the transportation and discharge. Maybe Sister Mariam can remember her name. It was Barbara or Brenda or something like that.”

“Thanks, that would be helpful”, Alex said.

Sister Mariam pursed her lips and pretended to think. “Well, that was a while ago. Barbara, no, that doesn’t seem….”

“I know,” Joyce suddenly blurted, “it was Becca!”

“That sounds about right,” Mariam conceded reluctantly. “Maybe Rebecca”.

“Surname?” asked Alex eagerly.

Joyce shrugged. She had never been formally introduced and Australians were all about informality anyway.

Mariam didn’t know whether Joyce would make an effort to find out, in order to please Alex, or whether she would just ask someone else, so she attempted to divert her.

“Thomas… Tobias….Townsend……yes, I think it was Townsend,” she offered.

Right, Rebecca Townsend. Alex wouldn’t forget that in a hurry. Maybe a little holiday Down Under was just what the doctor ordered?

“Do you know if Dr. Petrelli is on duty?” she asked Mariam, knowing that Chiara did a lot of work with trauma patients who had sustained head or spinal injuries.

Mariam shook her head. “She’s off today,” she said, truthfully and thankfully.

“OK, well thank you, ladies, very much. I’ll be off, but hope to see you again soon,” and she departed with a little wave.

 _Not if I have anything to do with it_ , thought Mariam, waiting for Nurse Ndungu to disappear so that she could message Chiara and warn her.

**Saturday, August 17 th, Mogadishu, Somalia**

Chiara opened Facetime on her iPad and checked her watch. After Mariam’s warning about Alex, she had been spurred to contact some old colleagues in an attempt to identify Berenice’s former lover sooner rather than later. Alex had not mentioned her name, but Chiara was aware from their conversations that both surgeons had been working at Holby City hospital in the UK for a while. As a woman in a field dominated by men, and as a lesbian, Chiara belonged to several online groups of lesbian medical specialists from all over the world, and it was via one of these groups that she had first encountered a certain British obstetrics consultant whom she had later met in Copenhagen during a conference on foetal abnormalities caused by trauma during pregnancy. Fleur Fanshawe had been the life and soul of the social events, inviting Chiara and one or two others to the flat she shared with her Danish partner, and hosting several fun-packed and rather boozy evenings that Chiara would rather forget. Yet under the frivolous exterior of the social butterfly, Chiara knew Fleur to be a thoughtful and kind person. They had kept in touch and, most importantly, Chiara remembered that Fleur’s work in the UK had been mostly in Holby City Hospital. She may have overlapped with Berenice, and she would almost certainly be on the gossip grapevine. Chiara had messaged Fleur to request a chat, and the time was now right.

When Fleur appeared on the screen, she was wearing black scrubs and was obviously still at work.

“Well, well, _Dottoressa_ Petrelli, my favourite Italian consultant. _Che meraviglia!_ Was it my beautiful face you were wanting to see or are you just picking my brains?”

“A bit of both, darling. But always a pleasure to see you. Tell me, how is Copenhagen? And Katja?”

“Katja is fine, but we’re separated at the moment. I got offered a permanent consultant’s post in Obstetrics back at Holby City, so I’m here now. Katja will join me, hopefully, when her current rotation ends. Christmas, most probably.”

“Wow, so you’re back in Holby? That’s actually great news!”

“And why is that? Are you looking for a job?”

“What, at Holby? With Guy Self? God no, I’d take my miserable boss, Avi Herzl, any day! He may have no charm but he’s not slippery!”

“Oh, Guy’s not here anymore. He went to rehab,” Fleur chuckled. “But Neuro’s a bit flat these days, we could do with a gorgeous Italian superstar.”

“Flatterer!” teased Chiara. “Actually, Fleur, I do sort of want to pick your brains.”

“Fire away.”

“Did you ever know a military trauma surgeon called Berenice Wolfe? Was she at Holby when you were there before?”

Fleur looked at her for a moment then she got up and shut the door to her office.

“I’m told she died in the blast in Mogadishu a month ago. So, you’re there, why are you asking about her?”

“Just bear with me for a moment, Fleur. She apparently had a lover at Holby before she came out to Africa. Do you know who that is?”

“Of course. Her name is Serena Campbell and she’s one of my best friends. What are you telling me, Chiara? The poor woman’s in bits!”

“Fleur, I need to trust you and you to trust me. I don’t want to do anything to hurt Serena, so what I’m about to tell you now has to remain a secret between us for now, OK?’


	5. When the World Comes In Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie finds her memory returning bit by bit, helped in some cases by pop songs from the past. But something is preventing her from getting the full picture, and she is reluctant to seek proof of her identity or announce herself until she knows the truth. Fleur has promised Chiara she will try to get some documents to prove Bernie's identity, but to do that, Fleur needs to approach Serena.

**Sunday 18th August 2019, Darwin, Australia**

Since Bernie had been working with Mark, she had grown increasingly confident and her physical strength and flexibility had improved a lot. Linda went to the swimming pool with her several times a week, and after doing some gentle laps, they sat in the jacuzzi and let the jets massage their tired muscles.

“I don’t know why on earth I never came to Australia in my previous life,” Bernie remarked, arching her back under a particularly powerful jet, “but it’s paradise, I’m really loving it.”

Linda smiled indulgently, her calm grey eyes twinkling. Like Becca, she had become incredibly fond of their accidental house guest, while also acknowledging that anyone as gorgeous, intelligent and accomplished as Major Berenice Wolfe would have lovers, friends, colleagues and institutions all clamouring for her return if they only knew.

“But this is all going to come to an end soon, isn’t it? It has to, I suppose,” she said sadly, suddenly vulnerable, like a child.

_“Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over,_

_Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in",_ Linda sang softly.

“What’s that song?” Bernie asked, sitting up straight.

“ _Don’t Dream_ _It’s Over,_ it’s really famous, especially here in Australia- the band, Crowded House, is Kiwi-Australian- it’s from the late 80’s but heaps of people are covering it all the time. I’ll play it for you when we get home. Does it ring a bell?”

“A distant one,” Bernie admitted.

Bernie had been slowly coming to terms with her identity since Becca had got the passport scan from Chiara two weeks before. They had taken it gently, Becca nudging, Bernie sometimes revealing startling details from her still murky past, until, a week later, Bernie had admitted “I need to contact the British Consulate, don’t I?”

While Becca had sat back in her chair, thinking, _how best to handle this?_ it had been Linda who had taken up the reins.

“Well, Bernie, we sort of looked into this a bit, because the nearest UK Consulate is in Brisbane, and that’s a three and a half hour plane ride away. So before you go dashing off, we looked up the things you’d need to get a new passport.”

“Really? You did that?” Bernie asked, her cheeks flushed, but with alarm or excitement Becca couldn’t tell.

“We did”, Linda continued in her unflappable way. “And the bottom line is, you’ll need to produce your birth certificate, or your military ID, some sort of proof of who you are, and that means contacting people. The Army or the UN or your family.”

“So we thought”, Becca added, “that you needed time to consider your situation in terms of …the people you want to inform that you’re still alive. And how best to break that to them.”

Bernie had looked at them, first one then the other. She knew now that they knew that there was something she was not telling.

“Oh” is all she had said.

“So all we know, Bernie,” Linda continued, speaking slowly and without emphasis, “is what the doctor in Mogadishu told us she had found out from the UN, and what is on this passport and in your medical records. You’re 54, British, an officer in the RAMC and a trauma surgeon attached to UNSOS in Somalia. Before that you were working for the Aga Khan University Hospital in Nairobi, Kenya.” Bernie had looked up sharply at the mention of Nairobi, but gave a faint nod.

“You have had at least one child – we’ve seen the Caesarean scar on your abdomen, and you were blown up not too many years ago in an explosion in another war zone.”

“Afghanistan”, Bernie had said, faintly, looking mildly ashamed. She had known this all along, Becca saw.

“And I have two children,” she added. “And an ex-husband. I’m divorced.”

Becca and Linda said nothing, waiting.

“And I’m gay. That much I’ve learned. But I don’t know how I know that- I mean, there’s a sort of fog in my memory about the recent past. I can tell you the names of my children and my ex-husband, and details of operations I’ve performed, like an atriocaval shunt…..” she broke off with a short bark of a laugh.”

“What’s your feeling about your family, Bernie? Were you close to them? Are you ready to tell them you’re alive?” Linda had asked. She and Becca had so far withheld the information about Alex, wanting Bernie to remember by herself.

“I have very clear recall of the recent past,” Bernie had told them. “And I heard that Italian doctor in Mogadishu tell Becca, that 55% of traumatic amnesia sufferers regain full memory within one month. That’s why I didn’t always tell you what I remembered- I wanted to give you the full picture. But there’s something blocking me. Something like fear. I…I…feel that my family might be better off thinking I’m dead. There’s some ..I don’t know exactly, some shame or some scandal there that I was responsible for. So I don’t want to tell them I’m alive if all that is going to come crashing down on me, if my suddenly turning up will make it worse for everyone…” A tremble had started up in her lips and her eyes were moist.

“Right. I see, well let’s leave that one for now, shall we, until we can maybe find out more about your family,” Linda said gently.

“How can you do that?” Bernie’s anxiety was palpable.

Linda exchanged a look with Becca, who said. “That Italian doctor you remember, Chiara Petrelli? The one who got the scan of your passport? She has some contacts and she’s trying to find out more about you without telling anyone you’re alive.”

“I see,” was all Bernie had managed.

Now, one more week after that exchange, a week during which Bernie had said almost nothing about her past, they were back at home. Becca poured them wine and Linda found a “Don’t Dream It’s Over” video on You Tube with the lyrics displayed and played it on their TV system.

_There is freedom within, there is freedom without  
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup  
There’s a battle ahead, many battles are lost  
But you’ll never see the end of the road  
While you’re travelling with me_

_Hey now, hey now  
Don't dream it's over  
Hey now, hey now  
When the world comes in  
They come, they come  
To build a wall between us  
We know they won't win_

Becca was watching Bernie out of the corner of her eye. She had a look on her face that suggested her synapses were firing.

As the song came to an end, Bernie swiped her arm across her eyes and said.

“How old are you, Becca? And Linda? “

“Um,” caught off guard, Becca stumbled out “39 and Linda’s 43”.

"And you say that song was popular among gay people in your age group?”

“Yeah, it’s always been....well, iconic you’d say, not just in Australia and not just among gays, but it’s a sort of anthem for some people. Why, Bernie, do you know it?”

“Thinking about coming out,” Bernie said, screwing up her forehead. “When I was in Afghanistan. People ....I mean soldiers….used to play that. I was ..still married and not out. But there was this woman in my unit. I think she’s the one that made me realise I was a lesbian. And that song….that song was _her_ anthem. It brings back some memories.”

“Do you remember her name, Bernie?”

This time Bernie didn’t hesitate. “Alex, it was Alex. She was a Captain.”

As Bernie spoke, Becca’s phone beeped with a message. She read it then jumped to her feet.

“I uh, sorry guys, I have to take this. Back soon,” and she went off to the study at the back of the house and closed the door.

Linda focused on keeping Bernie on the narrative.

“And how old was Alex, Bernie?”

“Ten, um, ten years younger than me. More your age.”

“So what happened? Did you have a relationship with her?”

"Yes, I’m sure I did” Bernie said slowly. “Because after that I divorced my husband. He found out I think. That’s why he and my children turned against me.”

She stopped but her face was saying that the flow of memory was continuing and that it was painful and conflicting. Linda, ever the patient nurse, waited and gave her space, and as she did so, Becca reappeared.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you ladies, but I have some news. That was Chiara.”

***

_Now I'm walking again to the beat of a drum  
And I'm counting the steps to the door of your heart  
Only shadows ahead barely clearing the roof  
Get to know the feeling of liberation and release_

_Hey now, hey now  
Don't dream it's over  
Hey now, hey now  
When the world comes in  
They come, they come  
To build a wall between us  
We know they won't win_

Bernie lay on her bed, the song going round and round in her head. Becca had given her an older iPhone from when she had bought a new model, and a 4G prepaid SIM card, so Bernie had access to the internet everywhere. With her first pay packet from Mark she had bought a cheap pair of ear buds and every night before going to sleep she used the phone to try to remember songs and access memories. This song would never have come up if Linda hadn’t mentioned it. Somehow it was way off her own radar. She had searched UK pop charts from the different years, and each time she remembered a song, she noted it and added it to a Spotify playlist. Now that playlist was her memory. But this song was somehow problematic. It touched something deep inside herself, especially the last verse, “the feeling of liberation and release”, but when she listened to it all the way through it was telling her that this was in the past and that it was no longer as poignant as it had once been. Once again, there was a frustrating wall of fog obscuring most of the immediate past, a period spanning the 3 years between Afghanistan and now.

The more she listened, the more she felt the echoes of something trying to unlock the door in her memory. Older songs, from the early 2000s resonated with memories of her children, but one night she had come across the name Dusty Springfield which triggered something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She had tried looking up Dusty Springfield songs, but, though familiar, they held no memory that matched that of her name. When, in frustration, she looked up Dusty Springfield in Wikipedia she discovered that she had been a mostly closeted lesbian, so maybe that was the connection?

She was in two minds about what Becca had told her this evening. Huge curiosity- how could Chiara get access to Bernie’s documentation without anyone noticing? And what if someone did notice? Bernie knew well and good that her little subterfuge couldn’t last forever. She had spun it out. She was deeply concerned about costing Becca and Linda money, which is one reason why she had agreed to work with Mark. Becca scornfully called it “beer money”, but Bernie was now able to buy a few clothes, her own toiletries and do a supermarket run every now and again to pay her way. That made her feel a lot better. She promised herself that when she finally got access to the money she was sure Berenice Wolfe must have in a bank somewhere, she would treat Becca and Linda to something …well, something amazing. But right now she was torn between her need to know all about her past and her fear of facing up to the demons surely lurking there.

***

**Tuesday August 20th 2019, Holby, UK**

Serena couldn't say she was pleased to see Fleur when she had only a few minutes left before a particularly complicated surgery, but she had been feeling so down that any friendly face was welcome.

“What can I for you, Ms Fanshawe?” she said, “and whatever it is you will have to fit into the next three minutes or follow me to the changing room. No, kill that thought,” she said as she saw the look of delight on Fleur’s face. “You have three minutes starting from now.”

“I heard about the visit you and Cameron had last week,” the obstetrics consultant said, leaning back against the wall unit, hands in the pockets of her black scrubs. Serena had a sudden, sharp memory of how Bernie used to lean against those units but the effect was totally different. She shook herself.

“Yes,” she indicated a large cardboard box taking up space on the other side of the room.

“The Army sent her things but Cam is so distraught he won’t even open it. He took the phone and left the rest.”

“Have you had a look?”

Serena shrugged. “The usual- personal documents, handbag, wallet, her laptop, a stethoscope, some clothes. Apparently most of her stuff was destroyed in the explosion at the airport. This is just what she had with her. I’ll have to make him take it at some point but for now it can sit here.”

“I need to ask you something but this isn’t a good time. How about a drink tonight? “

Serena thought. She had nothing planned and should be able to finish on time.

“Ok, where?”

“I’ll come and meet you here at 6pm,” Fleur said, moving to the door before Serena could protest.

***

When Serena closed the front door to her house that evening her head was reeling and it wasn’t the Shiraz. Could Bernie be alive? Was this tiny spark of hope in her chest real or just a hoax?

First, Fleur had made her open Bernie’s box and remove her wallet and documents, then follow her to the car park. She had insisted on Serena driving to her own house, with Fleur following. On arrival, Fleur had produced a bottle of wine and had ordered food from the Thai restaurant she knew Serena loved. She had then taken Serena’s hands in hers and said.

“I don’t want to raise any hopes, Serena, but I have a friend working in a hospital in Mogadishu who has had a number of traumatic amnesia cases they have been unable to identify from the explosion that Bernie was in. Bernie may well be dead. But please, just let me scan these documents and send them to see whether they can jolt anyone’s memory.”

“Why am I getting the feeling you know something but are not telling me?” Serena demanded. “And who is this contact of yours?”

“Her name is Chiara Petrelli, she’s a neurosurgeon, Italian, currently attached to the Madina hospital in Mogadishu.”

“And how would she connect you with this case?” Serena demanded.

Fuck, Fleur had not anticipated this question. Damn.

“Come on, Fanshawe, spill.”

At this moment the bell rang so Fleur rushed to the door with her purse to pay for the food.

When she came back she had formulated a response. Serena was standing with her arms folded. Grimly.

“OK, look, Serena, this is very sensitive. She knows Alex. Through the lesbian network. And Alex came hunting round all the hospitals. Chiara has hundreds of patients and they dealt with blast victims. The thing is, Chiara doesn’t want to tip off Alex until she’s sure Bernie could be one of them or not, so she remembered I’d worked at Holby and asked me to try to get as much documentary evidence of ID as I can.”

Fleur then proceeded to go through all Bernie’s documents and credit cards and scan them with her phone.

“OK all done. Let’s have dinner.”

Serena could feel her self-control ebbing.

“You know what, Fleur? I’m not hungry. Not after that. Could we just postpone dinner? You can take the food, you paid for it.”

Fleur’s expression was one Serena couldn't, for once, read.

“OK, if that’s what you want,” she said kindly, moving towards the door.

“But promise me that if this exercise has any basis in reality, you will let me know immediately. Before you tell Cam, OK? Oh and I trust you to protect the security and privacy of those documents. No one’s cancelled her credit cards or told her bank, so you be bloody careful.”

“Serena,” Fleur said solemnly. “You have my word.”


	6. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena decides to leave Holby and travel. Fleur tries to steer her in a certain direction, working with Chiara to formulate a plan to bring her and Bernie back together. Meanwhile, Bernie starts off on her first trip down the Stuart Highway with Mark, revealing during the journey that she may soon be able to access some of her money,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been planning to update this later in the week but took pity on you folks and decided to do it sooner. We get our first glimpse of the Stuart Highway here, the 3,000 km road that bisects Australia down the middle, from Adelaide to Darwin. This road will come to have a huge significance for Bernie. 
> 
> A "ute"is a utility vehicle, like a small truck.

**Friday, August 30 th, 2019, Holby, UK**

“Are you quite sure you want to make this final, Serena?” Henrik Hanssen asked, pen poised as he read Serena’s letter of resignation.

“I do, Henrik. I’m sorry, it goes without saying, but I think the hospital can now manage without me. And I know you’re also planning to go back to Sweden soon, so maybe it’s time to bring in some new blood,” she said.

He inclined his head, which she supposed signalled agreement.

“I take it you have plans, then.” It was not a question.

Serena gave a brief smile. “I do indeed. Let’s see where the wind blows me, eh?”

As she left the hospital later that day, after sincere but muted farewells from her colleagues who were not entirely surprised to see her go, she felt an unexpected lightness of spirit overlay her deep sadness, bringing with it the sense of a new adventure on her horizon.

Fleur was waiting in the car park.

“Are we celebrating or …..?” she smiled.

“No, I don’t think celebration is the right word,” Serena replied. “But let’s have a drink for old times’ sake and toast the future.”

“That’s my girl!” and Fleur took her arm and walked her in the opposite direction to Albie’s, to a newish wine bar with discreet wood panelled seating booths.

“Shiraz?” she asked. Serena gave her a look as if to say “What else?”

“So, have you decided?” Fleur asked, returning with a bottle and two glasses which she proceeded to set down on the table. Serena took the bottle, unscrewed the top and sniffed.

“Ah Chilean! Concha Y Toro if I’m not mistaken.”

“Does that mean a tour of the Colchagua Valley wineries?” Fleur teased (hoping she was wrong).

“Nope. Wrong direction entirely. I’ve been tossing a few ideas around and I thought I might ……revisit Nairobi, and possibly even go to Mogadishu to lay the ghosts to rest.”

Fleur’s breathing quickened. “And then?”

“Well, there’s a cousin in Australia, an old schoolfriend in New Zealand and oh, yes, Charlotte in Thailand, might be worth a quick stopover. Lots of choice.”

Her voice was unnaturally high and she was fiddling with her pendant as she took a first sip of the wine, not meeting Fleur’s eyes.

Fleur leaned forward a little. “Is that wise, do you think, to go back to where you were with Bernie, and where she …died? A bit maudlin?”

Finally, Serena looked up and Fleur was surprised by the determination in her eyes after the previous moment of hesitation.

“I want to go to Mogadishu to meet your contact, Chiara Petrelli. I need to see for myself. Since you sent off those scans ten days ago, I haven’t heard a peep and I can’t think about anything else until we really put this ..this matter to rest.”

Fleur met her gaze and took her hand, rubbing her knuckles gently but Serena pulled her hand away.

“Why do I have this feeling all the time that you’re hiding something from me?” she said, the lines deepening around her mouth.

Fleur pulled her hand back and raised both as if to say _OK, I give in._ “I’m not hiding anything Serena, but I think Chiara might know a tiny bit more than she’s telling me. And actually, I was trying to dissuade you because I knew you’d do the exact opposite.”

“Ha bloody ha!” Serena said sarcastically. Then -“Wait a minute! You _want_ me to meet Chiara? To go to Mogadishu?”

“To meet her, yes, I think she could help sort this business out, But Mogadishu no. Firstly, it’s far too dangerous, unless you’re protected by an international organisation. And secondly, well, do you want Alex to find out you’ve been poking around?”

“A good point”, Serena conceded.

“And besides, didn’t you meet Bernie and Alex’ commanding officer this week?”

Serena sighed. “Yes, Cam and I popped down to Salisbury to the regimental HQ. But he couldn’t fill in any blanks or answer any of the more pressing questions, such as, how come her DNA wasn’t on the body armour? Or how come her handbag was intact if she was blown to bits? He was on a short path to retirement and he just wrapped everything up as best he could. I don’t blame him. But it left me with this teensy weensy little question mark.”

“And Cameron?”

“Oh I think he’s bought it now. I don’t want to disturb him with my worries. Not yet, anyway. So,” she raised her head, “if not Mogadishu, where?”

**Saturday, August 31 st, 2019. Darwin, Australia**

Bernie grabbed her canvas shoulder bag and came out of her room, heading for the front door.

“Well don’t you look the part,” Becca said, admiringly. “Give us a twirl.”

So Bernie did, while Linda came out of the kitchen and wolf-whistled and Alastair ran around her ankles barking joyfully. Bernie blushed.

“Well Mark told me to butch it up a bit”, she explained, looking down at her faded dungarees, white fitted cap-sleeve T-shirt underneath, red Converse on her feet.

“Um…well I know why he said that- he’s trying to protect you from some of those sex- starved creeps at the overnighter, but Jeez, if there are any dykes around, they’ll eat you alive.”

Bernie smirked. “I don’t think so…” she began.

“Oh I know, I know, thirteen ways to kill them with your bare hands and all that…but hey, I know what you need,” and she ran into her bedroom and the sound of drawers being opened reached the hallway. She reappeared with a crumpled dark blue baseball cap in her hand.

“Got a hairband, Bernie? Yep, that’s it. So let’s put your hair up into a rough sort of pony tail, right, like that, and stick this cap on the top. That’s the business!”

While Becca and Bernie fixed her hair, Linda had gone to find something and next minute was putting applique tattoos on her triceps. When she looked down, Bernie suddenly saw she had a Celtic band around one arm and some kind of tribal fish symbol on the other.

As Bernie watched, bemused, there was a noise outside, and Mark came through the door.

“Whatcha think, bro?” asked Becca proudly.

He looked Bernie up and down and said “Right, well that should deter the worst of the sleazebags. Not sure about the ladies though,” winking, “Come on, Bernie, let’s hit the road before the sun gets too high.”

Bernie grabbed her bag and blew kisses to Linda and Becca. Mark held the car door open for her, but as she got in, he tweaked the strap of her dungarees and said “hope you’ve got a bra in that bag!” Bernie smiled and pulled a borrowed flannel shirt over her outfit to ward off the early morning chill and they set off.

This was Bernie’s first trip down the Stuart Highway. Mark had a client whose ‘ute’ had broken down on the road from Alice Springs to Darwin He had got a tow into a place called Tennant Creek, where he had left the ute and cadged a plane ride home. Mark’s job was to pick up the vehicle at the garage, check it over for roadworthiness after the locals had done a repair on it, drive it back and service it properly. So Mark had taken his 2017 Toyota Hilux with Bernie as co-driver, and he would drive the wounded ute back while she followed him in the Toyota. Bernie was thrilled to get out on the road, although Mark had warned her that the client was paying only minimum rate and accommodation would be basic. Bernie had offered to chip in to ensure that each got a single room, but Mark was having none of it. “This is on me. You’ll get your pay for today, Bernie, but it’s a long drive and a lot of responsibility. You’ll understand what I mean once we’re out there.”

Tennant Creek was a 10 hour drive from Darwin. They set off at 7.00, a little after sun up and made good time to the first rest stop, Pine Creek. Bernie was glad to stretch her legs and use the bathroom. She wandered around a little, not arousing much attention. There were a few stray dogs sniffing around, a couple of old men at the bar already on the beers, but otherwise Pine Creek seemed sunk in a mid-morning slumber, everyone getting up slowly to face the day ahead. She snapped a few photos then joined Mark at the open-air bar where he was picking up bacon rolls and mugs of coffee. Bernie was starving. She had quickly downed a bowl of cereal before leaving but her stomach was rumbling again and she seized the roll eagerly. The temperature had risen to the mid -twenties, which was pleasant, and dryer than the humid heat of Darwin, which was geographically closer to South-East Asia than the southern Australian metropolises.

They set off again, this time with Bernie driving. The landscape around Darwin had been beautiful and interesting- towns, villages, pretty places, but as they drove deeper into the arid landscape of the Northern Territory, it had become more barren and wild. The next part of the drive was an unending ribbon of road that offered little in the way of variation apart from a few interesting rock formations and some occasional twists and turns. Bernie tried to imagine what it would be like at night, on her own, and was glad of Mark’s solid presence. They had been mostly quiet before but now he started to chat, taking cigarettes out of his pocket and offering one to her. Bernie had not smoked since before the explosion, but taking one just seemed to be the right thing to do, so they smoked contentedly, the radio just a drone in the background.

“So how’s the ID process going, Bernie?” Mark asked. “I haven’t caught up with Bec for over a week so I don’t much know what’s going on.”

“Last week Bec’s contact in Somalia got hold of scans of all my documents – birth certificate, qualifications, credit cards etc. so that was quite exciting, I must say. To see one’s life laid out on paper- marriage and divorce certificates, too. “

“So I know you were worried about cash, can you get the credit cards reissued?”

“Ha, actually, that’s a funny thing. Seems the person who got the documents from the UN in Mogadishu missed a card. I’d seen the Citibank logo about in Darwin and it rang a bell. But when they sent the scans of my cards, it was just an Amex and a Visa, both issued in the UK. So I asked about the Citibank card, because I’m sure I had an account there, and the contact went back and found it stuffed in an inside compartment of my wallet. She figured that if it was hidden away, no one knew it was there, so she stole it, and it’s being couriered to Australia. With that I can get access to my money. “

“Wow, that’s well weird,” Mark said. “How were you so sure you had a Citibank account?”

“I just had this feeling…at some point, I knew, I had split my finances to make sure that my salary from my work in Africa went to a separate account. So it seems the Citibank account is with the branch in Nairobi, and that means my family in the UK don’t know about it. They’re probably shutting down my UK accounts now so I don’t want to try to access those.”

“So, explain this to me Bernie, why don’t you want your family to know you’re alive? I mean, think how devastated they must be!”

Bernie turned her head from the road and gave him a sad, haunted smile. “Maybe they are and maybe they aren’t,” she said. “I’d just like this period of quiet and freedom to extend a little longer. I’m right where I want to be, but a bit of extra cash wouldn’t go amiss!”

At this both laughed, and Mark dropped the questioning, but every now and again he shot looks at her as if to reassure himself that he had not misheard her.

**Sunday, September 1 st, 2019. Holby, UK**

Fleur and Chiara were talking on Facetime again. This time both were at home, and Chiara’s partner, a tall African woman who looked like a model, was moving back and forth behind her.

“Why don’t you just introduce me?” Fleur said, distracted by the brief appearances.

“Er..yes, uh Mariam..?” Chiara began as the woman came and sat beside her, liquid brown eyes under naturally long lashes and a slightly shy smile.

“Hi I’m Mariam, nice to meet you, Fleur,” she said, in a distinctive accent.

“Canadian?” smiled Fleur

“By way of Ethiopia, yes,” Mariam replied.

“OK ladies, so tell me why it’s so urgent to talk to me.”

“We thought…” they both started, then Chiara waved at Mariam to do the talking.

“I have a brother who lives in Djibouti”, she said. “It’s a shortish flight for us, and much safer and more picturesque than Mogadishu. We thought maybe Serena could fly out there and we’ll meet her and talk to her. Then she can go on to Australia.”

“Hmm. Djibouti, that could work,” Fleur mused. “I haven’t yet sold her on the idea of Australia, I have to work on it, but once she meets you, all will become clear, and she’ll know why she’s going to Australia.”

“That was great work with the Citibank card by the way,” Chiara laughed.

“That was a great risk, I’ll have you know. It’s a good thing Serena had decided to put all Bernie’s things back in the box in her office in case Cam asked for it, or I’d never have been able to do a second search. Anyway, I sent it by FedEx on Wednesday, so it should be with Becca before the end of this week. Make sure she gets the UK packaging off before she gives it to Bernie. We don’t want her to know yet about the UK angle.”

“No, I think that’s best”, agreed Chiara. Becca says she’s recovering a lot of memory but there seems to be a blank about the most recent period. She remembers Alex, as a past event, but not Serena or the circumstances in which she ended up in Africa. There’s still work to be done before she meets Serena.”

“OK, well, let me work on Serena and try to sell Australia to her. She has a cousin in Melbourne so maybe she’ll plan to head there anyway. But Djibouti looks good. Even if she has to buy a ticket for Australia later.”


	7. Feel The Pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie finally begins to recover the missing part of her memory, aided by things she encounters on her journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm upping the rating to M from this point onwards to avoid offending anyone, although this is really just borderline.
> 
> If you've never heard of Katie Reider, I suggest you give her a listen. An American singer/songwriter and a lesbian from a Christian community who lived with her partner and their two children, she died tragically in 2008 from a rare and aggressive facial tumour at the age of 30. This song has always resonated with me and I could imagine Bernie in Kiev, listening to late night internet radio, catching this song and it expressing everything she felt about Serena at that moment, and maybe giving her the push to go back and admit her feelings.

Bernie had been pleasantly surprised by Tennant Creek, which was a thriving, small community in the middle of the Northern Territory. The hotel had been basic but perfectly adequate and no one had molested her at the bar. She and Mark had dined at an outdoor barbecue restaurant, had a few beers and retired early. Mark was up at dawn to see to the vehicle. Bernie dawdled over breakfast, then headed out on foot to have a look round. By the time she got to the garage where Mark was working on the ute, it was past ten and he was irritable.

“This bunch of fucken drongos,” he moaned, giving a screw a violent twist with the spanner, “we’re not making it out of here before 12 at this rate, mate. This crate’s nowhere near roadworthy.”

“So what’ll we do? Drive at night?”

“No way,” he snorted. “We’ll get to Mataranka or Katherine and hole up there. I’m not risking those twists and turns in the dark in this piece of shit. Sorry, Bernie, but we’ll have to spend another night on the road.”

“No worries,” Bernie replied, secretly glad to have more time to relax, wander around and take in the scenery. She had spotted a small pool in the rock behind one of the camp sites, so she walked over and asked permission to swim. It was deserted and, not worried about a swimsuit, Bernie stripped to her knickers and T-shirt and dived in. The water was fresh and cool, her brain and nervous system reviving from the hours on the monotonous ribbon of road. Afterwards, she dried off with the threadbare towel the camp office had lent her and redressed in clean underwear and a white ribbed vest top under the dungarees. The tattoos were still mysteriously in place, if a little faded, and Bernie noticed how the muscles in her triceps seemed more toned and pronounced since she had started working with Mark, lifting and carrying heavy car parts around.

They finally got on the road at one thirty, Mark very unhappy. It was a six hour drive to Katherine, and with each driving their own vehicle, they needed to stop every two hours or so to rest their eyes. Now Bernie began to understand what Mark had meant by responsibility. The road swam before her eyes and with absolutely nothing to see for hundreds of miles she found her concentration slipping. The first rest stop came and went. They drank tea and refilled their water flasks. Mark’s ute, driving in front, was not capable of speeds above 65 miles an hour, so progress was much slower than anticipated. As the afternoon fell away, and Bernie squinted against the glare of the sun, grateful for the tinted windows and air conditioning in the Toyota, she fiddled with the radio, rejecting heavy rock, aboriginal rap and anything loud or discordant until she found a mellow -voiced DJ playing cool, laid back indie sounds. She didn’t know any of the artists, but she liked the voices, the relaxed vibe, tapping her foot as she drove. They were still two hours out of Katherine and the sun was noticeably lower. In another hour it would be dark. Bernie began to feel the road, the hugeness of the vast empty Northern Territory, the solitude of the lonely rock formations, the occasional passing truck. And the music. She barely noticed the DJ introduce the next song, but from the first few bars, a guitar, soft percussion and a distinctive piano ripple, she felt her heart constrict, and then, holding her breath, the opening lyrics, a woman’s voice-

_What you don't know  
Is that I love you  
What you don't know,  
Is how much I care  
And what you don't see  
Are my dreams about you  
I dream about you,  
I dream about you_

Something seemed to be squeezing her lungs, her heart, everything inside her chest. She struggled for breath as the singer continued-

_But I'm afraid to let you in,  
And I'm afraid to let you know,  
Yes, I'm afraid to let my love show_

Something pinged in her memory as she struggled to keep her eyes on the darkening road, a room in some cold, northern place, lying alone on a single bed, this song, and so much pain.

_It's so peculiar  
This thing that we've found.  
It's so amazing, yeah  
How loud my heart does sound  
Feel the pulse,  
It's beating only for you,  
Oh, it's beating only,  
Beating only for you._

As Bernie exhaled in a sob, she felt the tears come pouring out of her eyes, streaming down her face uncontrolled-

_But I'm afraid to let you in,  
And I'm afraid to let you know,  
Yes, I'm afraid to let my love show_

Every syllable, every note seemed to tear at Bernie’s memory, pulling from her feelings she had not known were hidden within until this moment.

_Don't you wonder of this timing  
It's mysteriously, yeah, mystifying  
I'm head over feet,  
Flying all around  
Oh, won't you catch me  
Before I hit the ground_

Swiping her bare arm across her eyes was not proving very effective, so Bernie groped around in the cab until she located her flannel shirt and used that, forcing her eyes not to betray her as she stayed behind Mark’s vehicle, tail lights now winking at her in the deepening dusk.

_But I'm afraid to let you in,  
And I'm afraid to let you know,  
Yes, I'm afraid to let my love show._

_But I won't be afraid to let you in,_   
_I won't be afraid to let you know,_   
_And, I won't be afraid to let my love show._

The tears wouldn’t stop. It was so inconvenient- why did she have to have a nervous breakdown on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere? But the pain was real, coming from a place deep inside her she realised belatedly that she had been denying since she woke up from the blast. The song ended and the DJ said, “That was the amazing Katie Reider, such a tragic loss to the music world…” and Bernie committed the name to memory, and knew she had to stop, before this searing pain in her heart caused her to crash.

Later, Bernie would look back on this moment with wonderment- how could she have suppressed these memories? How could three years of her life-maybe **the** three most important years of her life -have remained hidden while she began to return to herself? But in the moment all she could do was flash her lights three times and indicate that she was pulling over. Mark pulled over first and she followed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as she slid from the cab and began taking great lungfuls of air.

“Nothing”, she managed to say, keeping her tear-stained face averted. “Just in danger of falling asleep.”

“See. I told you. It gets to you. “He pulled out his cigarettes and they smoked in silence, the dark like a soft curtain all around them, insects humming and whirring unseen, and all the while Bernie’s heart hammering in her chest, asking her more questions than she had answers for.

Finally, Mark said “OK now? Shall we go on? Just another 90 minutes.”

His ute unfortunately had other ideas and staged its own nervous breakdown before they reached Katherine, forcing them to make a halt in a place called Larrimah that had one motel and camping rest stop.

Bernie was so preoccupied with the implications of what had happened to her that she paid little attention to their surroundings. Mark went to book rooms and came back with pursed lips.

“There are not too many tourists around, but a fair few trucks stopped for the night. The bar’s already full,” he said.

Having dropped off her bag, Bernie met Mark at the bar and they bought cold beers, both secretly relieved that the driving was over for the day. There were locals around and other travellers, she could see. It was warm in the crowded bar area, despite the temperature having dropped, and she carried her shirt across her arm, the tattoos on her triceps visible under the bar lights. They opted for the bar food- a veggie burger and chunky chips for Bernie and a giant chilli dog with chips for Mark. Once the food was done and Mark had ordered more beers, he was suddenly distracted by a woman who came up to him.

“Marko Travers? Well I never…”

They greeted each other like old friends. Bernie put her at around 30, short, red haired and voluptuous, breasts bursting out of her too-tight blouse. She was also several drinks down. Mark seemed delighted to see her, so after a hasty introduction to Kayley, Bernie decided to leave him to get on with it and wandered further down the bar. The woman behind the bar had noticed her and indicated her empty glass, so Bernie smiled and nodded. The woman had short dark hair, and when Bernie asked her how much, she said, in a very English accent, “I’ll start a tab for you, shall I?” Bernie just nodded. When the beer came, deliciously strong and cold, Bernie took a sip and asked “you’re a Pom?”

“Fraid so. You too? “

Bernie nodded again, not wishing to talk about herself, but the woman didn’t ask, just kept an eye on her as she sat alone, every now raising an eyebrow and bringing refills for Bernie. It was now past ten, the crowd was thinning out. An old aboriginal guy with a guitar had started strumming in a corner and the bartender came over to sit by Bernie, bringing a whisky bottle and two shot glasses. Bernie felt anything but sober. Usually her high tolerance would have kept her on solid ground, but tonight her world had been cracked open and she surrendered almost gratefully to the blurring of edges, the heightened sensitivity within her to the night, the warm brown of the bartender’s eyes, the cheeky dimple in her chin, so she nodded and let the woman pour them shots.

“I’m Sally,” the brunette said, as she raised her glass to Bernie, who followed suit, saying simply “Bernie”. They downed the shots, Bernie noticing a distinctive tattoo on the inside of Sally’s arm, near the wrist. Her normal social inhibitions loosened by alcohol, Bernie took hold of the wrist and peered closer in fascination.

“Is that a butterfly?” she asked, then, realising that her action was somewhat inappropriate, she dropped the wrist and said “Oh, sorry”. Sally looked amused, then she leant over and traced her finger over the tribal fish tattoo on Bernie’s right tricep. The drag of her finger, the sensation of flesh on flesh triggered a distinctly uncomfortable feeling of arousal and Bernie twitched reflexively. Sally smiled and removed her finger, and poured more shots.

“So what do you do, Bernie?” Downing her second shot, while Bernie did the same.

“I’m a ..mechanic,” Bernie said.

Sally laughed. “Well you might look the part but you don’t sound it.”

“Neither do you sound like a bartender”, Bernie retorted, having picked up Sally’s educated home counties accent.

“People fetch up here in two ways”, Sally said bluntly. “Either they’ve been dumped or they’re running away from something.”

“So which are you?”

“A bit of both”, was all Sally would say. “And you, Bernie-just-passing-through? Where do you live?”

“Darwin”, admitted Bernie, unprepared to go further back.

“And you went to Darwin to be a …mechanic?” she asked incredulously.

“I was in an accident and I came to Australia to recover. Being a mechanic is just what I’m doing right now.” This was as far as Bernie was prepared to go.

Sally looked into her eyes. “Well it’s not every day I have such a beautiful woman sitting at my bar,” she said softly, and before Bernie could react, Sally had leaned across the gap and brushed her lips against Bernie’s. It was soft, the taste of whisky chased by something sweeter. Bernie forgot not to kiss back and before she knew it, Sally had tangled her hand in Bernie’s hair and their tongues were touching. When they broke for air, Sally murmured “wow!” Bernie felt herself blushing, her heart going nineteen to the dozen, and a craving starting deep in her belly.

“Why don’t we take this somewhere else?” Sally suggested, picking up the bottle and glasses and coming round the bar. As she did so, Bernie noticed that she was shapely, her hipster jeans lower than her black tank top, a creamy expanse of firm belly separating them.

“I’m knocking off, Kev,” she shouted to the man at the other end of the bar, who waved a nonchalant hand in their direction.

“I didn’t pay”, Bernie said.

“It’s on your room. Pay tomorrow when you check out,” Sally replied, taking Bernie’s hand and pulling her towards the motel.

Only now did Bernie register that she was being led, and she felt apprehension rise within her. But what was not to like? An attractive woman, early forties, Bernie guessed, a cheeky smile, a pleasant personality and a clear understanding of what she, they both, wanted.

Sally had opened the door to a ground floor room at the back. It was tidy and clean, the bed made, some kind of ethnic blanket on top, cushions. It was the cushions that drew Bernie’s eye. Four different colours, scattered around the top of the bed. Something clicked into place in Bernie’s memory, but Sally had put the bottle and glasses down on a table and was gently pulling down the straps of Bernie’s dungarees. Bernie stood there helplessly. She was a bit drunk, she knew, and there was no reason on earth why she should not take advantage of this, but something was stirring in Bernie’s brain telling her that this was wrong, that she should be with someone else, not Sally. Suddenly, Sally stepped back and with one smooth movement pulled off her black tank top. It was one of those two-in-one garments and there she was, bare breasts with brown nipples like copper coins open to Bernie’s gaze. Bernie realised that she had reached a fork in the road. Her baser instinct was pulling her towards those breasts, she could feel the slickness of her own arousal when she moved, but her head, and something deep in her chest was saying no no no. Still she stood there as Sally came towards her, looping her arms around Bernie’s neck and pushing her breasts against Bernie’s through her thin vest top. Something broke in Bernie’s head then and she held Sally’s arms to stop her going any further, the words coming from a place she didn’t recognise.

“No, stop Serena, I can’t….”

Silence. Then “Serena?”

Bernie realised what she had just said, confused, “Sorry, Sally….” but then it hit her. She pushed Sally’s arms away and took a deep breath.

“You won’t believe this, Sally,” she said, her words slurring a little. “But you’ve just done me a huge favour.”


	8. Shifting Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie tells her hosts about how she recovered her memory, and about Serena. Meanwhile, Serena finds out from Chiara that Bernie is still alive and in Australia. Alex sets off for Sydney at around the same time that Serena heads for Djibouti. Will their paths cross?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for making you wait so long- I took a break to do the Summer Challenge and then got a new job, which required a fair bit of training and preparation. Now all sorted and back on track. Moving ever closer to that magical finale!

**Sunday, September 1 st, 2019. Holby, UK**

Serena twisted her hands nervously as she sat on her sofa, her laptop open and logged into Skype. It was 5pm, 7pm in Mogadishu and Serena was expecting a call. Having got Serena to agree to go to Djibouti, Fleur had suggested talking to Chiara before booking her ticket for final destination. Chiara messaged her on the dot of 5pm to ask _Ready?_ and as soon as Serena answered in the affirmative, it was ringing.

Chiara and Serena eyed each other speculatively. Serena saw an attractive Mediterranean woman with hazel eyes framed by dark lashes, shortish, thick wavy hair and a seductive smile. She put her in her late 30’s, 40 maybe.

“Nice to meet you finally, Chiara,” Serena said.

“And likewise, Serena,” the Italian doctor responded in perfect English, with just a hint of an accent in her slightly husky voice. Then she continued- “first I must apologise to you for what must seem to be a cat and mouse sort of game we’ve been playing with you. I can assure you that it’s not a game, but we had to protect the identity of our patients, and be sure we ‘re all on the same page.”

Serena didn’t quite know what to make of this. What was Chiara saying? So she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“The fact is, we are now one hundred percent certain that the patient we thought was Australian, and who was airlifted to Darwin by MSF, still in a semi-coma, is, in fact, your missing ex-partner, Berenice Wolfe. I hope that’s not too much of a shock.”

Serena felt tears come to her eyes unbidden- Bernie was alive, it wasn’t just Serena’s imagination, or a dream. She sat with tears pouring down her cheeks, not able to speak. Chiara paused. Then she said, gently, “Take your time, it’s a difficult thing to process.”

Serena wiped her eyes, then said, simply. “Bernie was the love of my life. I should never have let her go.”

“Your reaction makes me more sure than ever that we’re doing the right thing by telling you,” Chiara said.

“The right thing……..?” Serena is confused.

“No one else knows,” Chiara said. “I have not notified MSF in Mogadishu, and most specifically not Captain Alex Dawson who has been in here asking questions.”

“But….why?” Serena isn’t getting it. If there is proof that Bernie is alive, why are they not shouting it from the rooftops?

“Bernie is staying with the nurse who brought her back from Somalia, Becca Travers, and her partner, in Darwin. She has been getting her memory back slowly but there’s something blocking her. We’ve sent the scans of her documents over and she is gradually coming to terms with who she is, but she’s not ready yet to re-enter her old world.”

A light is slowly coming on in Serena’s brain. “But if Bernie remembers who she is, she will also remember that she was engaged to Alex. So why are you not having this talk with Alex, instead of me?”

Chiara smiled. “It so happens that I know Alex, and before this happened, she told me that the woman she was in love with- Bernie- was still very much in love with someone she had left behind in England. Alex was trying to win her back but not really succeeding. So I had this contact with Holby through Fleur, and that’s how I found out about you. Serena, you need to be the first person from her past to meet Bernie- before Alex gets there. It seems she may be close to recovering that part of her memory-“

Serena shook herself suddenly and her next words came out more sharply than she intended. “Hold on a minute. You mean you’re playing Cupid? Isn’t that irresponsible? What if it IS really Alex she prefers. How is that going to play if I show up and she’s all embarrassed?”

Suddenly, another figure came into view on the screen, sitting beside Chiara and sliding an arm round her shoulders.

“Because, Serena,” Mariam said, “Alex has just booked herself a ticket for Australia. We’re rather concerned she’ll get there before you!”

“But…?” Serena’s head is whirling. “Why is she going to Australia if she doesn’t know Bernie’s definitely alive?”

“She found out from the nursing staff here that there were traumatic amnesia patients repatriated to Australia by MSF, so she had some leave to take and decided to follow it up. That’s all we know,” Chiara said. “She’s not certain.”

“Yet-“ added Mariam. “I gave her a wrong surname for Becca so she’ll probably go chasing it up at MSF in Sydney. She doesn’t know which city the patients were airlifted to.”

Serena smiled grimly. “So, ladies, what’s the plan?”

**Sunday, September 1 st, 2019, Darwin, Australia.**

Bernie padded barefoot out to the back deck where Becca and Linda were having a glass of wine and playing with Alastair. As soon as he saw Bernie, he ran to her to be fondled. Bernie dropped to one knee and rubbed his ears, stroking his shaggy brown coat and hugging him. She felt a huge sadness invading her.

“Good nap?” asked Linda, stretching languidly in her chair.

“Not very restful,” Bernie answered honestly, getting to her feet. “There’s something I want to share with you.”

Becca sat up and removed her sunglasses.

“You look serious, babe,” she said, grabbing a glass and fishing a bottle of rosé from an ice bucket.

“Here,” handing Bernie the glass, “spill.”

Bernie sat on the nearest chair, sipping her wine, Alastair coming immediately to put his head on her knee to be caressed. Then, slowly and painfully, she told them the story of how she had recovered her memory on the journey from Tennant Creek to Darwin, with the crucial enlightenment happening at the overnighter in Larrimah.

“So, you mean this bare-breasted woman was pressing herself against you and you _pushed her off?”_ Becca tried first for humour, but Bernie was embarrassed.

“Um, yes,…I mean I… well, I was pretty smashed, but I knew what I was doing. And I called her ‘Serena’, not Sally.”

Becca caught Linda’s eye briefly but they didn’t react.

“And Serena is…?” Linda asked gently.

“My ex,” Bernie stated flatly. “The love of my life,” and she dropped her head and a tear rolled down her cheek and plopped onto Alastair’s fur. He whimpered, as if feeling her pain.

“Bernie darlin’, stay right there, I’m going to fire up the barbie and prepare dinner and you’re gonna tell Linda the whole story, OK?” And Becca tactfully withdrew, knowing her partner to be vastly superior in the human sympathy business, and also, she did need to get dinner ready. They would all feel better with food inside them.

All the way back to Darwin from Larrimah that morning, Bernie had been mentally reconstructing the Serena story. She had apologised profusely to Sally the previous night and made her escape back to her room, where she had passed out on top of the bed in her clothes, either too drunk to stay awake, or just shattered from the seismic waves of memory that had rocked her day. In the morning, she had showered in cold water to wake herself up, and headed for the cars where Mark was waiting with coffee and fried egg rolls. Grateful not to have to face Sally again, Bernie ate breakfast on the road and set about restoring her memory as she followed Mark’s crippled ute along the highway.

By the time Becca set marinaded, barbecued lamb chops, baked spuds and a huge bowl of watercress salad on the table, they had more or less caught up with Bernie’s missing three years.

“So, Bernie, where do you want to go from here?” Becca asked kindly. “We’re here to help, so sock it to us, whatever we can do.”

“The problem is, I just don’t know how to do this,” Bernie admitted. “It’s messy. Everyone will be angry with me.” She sat back in her chair, pushing her empty plate to one side. “That was yummy by the way,” she added, licking a finger. “Shit! How can I go back to that life when I’ve been here having a much better one?” she burst out.

“What about bringing some of it here to start with?” suggested Linda.

**Thursday, September 5 th, 2019, 11pm. Doha, Qatar**

Major Alex Dawson came through the Customs check at Hamad International Airport, Doha, and headed into the transit area. Her flight from Mogadishu and Djibouti had arrived on time and she had a 6 hour layover until her flight to Sydney. She had been unable to sleep on the first two flights, being keyed up still after the stress and high tension of Mogadishu, so she spent the first hour having coffee and browsing the various overpriced luxury shops in the new and very swanky terminal building. Finally, as tiredness kicked in, she lay down on a row of chairs in the waiting area and set her alarm to wake her at 4.30am. She was both excited and apprehensive about turning up in Australia on her own and tracking down the mysterious Rebecca Townsend, but, well, Sydney had a thriving gay scene and Alex didn’t think she’d be at a loss for things to do even if this turned out to be a red herring. She had a huge hole in her centre where Bernie had always been, and she just needed closure one way or another.

**Friday, September 6 th, 2019, 1 am. Doha, Qatar**

Serena counted her blessings that she had spent the 6 hour flight from London in the upstairs economy cabin of the Qatar Airways A380 because she had had a row of seats to herself and a quiet, pleasant space away from the massed hordes below. With no bodies to climb over or climbing over her, and space to recline her seat the whole way, she enjoyed her dinner with a glass or three of a passable Chilean Shiraz, catching the eye of the handsome young Indian steward who was only too happy to refill her glass each time he passed with his trolley. Finally confessing herself beaten by the carb overload, she put the cheese and crackers in her handbag for later, drank some tea, and slept for around three hours. By the time she got into the transit area of the airport in Doha, she was wide awake and keen to look around. She had around two hours to kill and the airport was huge, so she gravitated towards her gate, hoping not to get lost. She was keen to buy a bottle of gin, as she had been told in London, where they refused to sell it to her, that it was forbidden to take alcohol through certain Middle Eastern transit countries. No such prohibition seemed to extend to the sale of alcoholic beverages in said destinations, however, so, despite the higher price, Serena flexed her credit card and got a bottle of a good quality craft gin to take with her, in case Djibouti proved to be disappointing on that score. She thought her hosts might also appreciate it.

She drifted gradually in the direction of her gate, noting all the exhausted travellers lying and sleeping on rows of seats, but that didn’t appeal, so she kept herself going and stopped for a cappuccino when she felt herself flagging. It was a relief to be finally seated and on the way again.

**Friday, September 6 th 2019\. Darwin, Australia**

Becca was very pleased with the progress they had made with Bernie that week. On Monday her Citibank card had arrived by FedEx, and Bernie had gone straight out to try to use it in an ATM. Her memory produced the required digits as soon as the screen prompted, although this was hardly a brainteaser as she used her date of birth. She was even happier, however, when she saw her balance was in excess of $20,000. For some time while still in Kenya, she had just been banking her salary every month, and, aside from basic expenses and a bit of travel, she hardly spent anything. She promptly went on a shopping spree to get some more clothes, a new phone, and to buy some gifts for Becca, Linda and Alastair.

Once that excitement had died down, Linda had tackled the issue of how Bernie should reconnect with those who loved her. She had had to share the news that Serena had resigned from Holby, and was planning a trip to Australia to visit a cousin. When Bernie demanded to know how they knew all this, Linda felt she had to reveal Fleur’s connection to Chiara, the neurosurgeon in Mogadishu. Bernie had looked at her almost disbelievingly.

“So this whole time, you knew all this and you didn’t tell me!” 

She seemed upset and annoyed, but Linda explained that they had had talks with Chiara about amnesia and the importance of letting the patient recover their memory slowly. Pushing Bernie or springing information on her could have caused more trauma, and so they had let events unfold. Bernie sat still digesting this. Then she asked.

“And does Serena know I’m still alive and in Australia?”

This was a tough question so Linda broached it as tactfully as she could.

“She has had questions about your presumed death all along, and at some point before she departs, Chiara will tell her the truth. She will also ask her to bring all your original documents- passport, bank stuff, phone etc. with her.”

“And what if Cameron or Charlotte has started notifying the banks that I’m dead?”

“Apparently, your son has left everything in Serena’s hands. He has taken it very badly and doesn’t want to deal with it. Your daughter is in Thailand still and hasn’t been back to the UK. We don’t know what frame of mind she’s in. But either way, you need to contact them before Serena gets here, they need to know and to understand what’s been going on.”

Bernie was silent for a few moments, no doubt trying to imagine how that conversation would go. Then she asked, more quietly.

“And the Army? Alex?”

“Bernie, the Army can wait until you know what you want to do. We have medical records to support your convalescence and if you want to be discharged on medical grounds, that will also be possible. No one has said anything to Alex.”

Becca was in charge of taking care of Alex if she did show up, but Bernie didn’t need to know that. Then Bernie said, looking down, “But it was Serena, the one who ended our relationship. What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

The million dollar question. Linda took Bernie’s hand and said, very carefully, “It seems that Serena has made it clear to Fleur that she very much regrets letting you go. She was heartbroken when they announced you were missing presumed dead. She made the decision to visit her cousin in Melbourne by herself, but Fleur encouraged the choice of Australia. Now she’s going to find out that you’re here. You have another chance with her- if that’s what you want.”

Bernie raised her eyes to Linda’s and said “It’s what I want more than anything in the world, but only if that’s what Serena wants too.”

On Thursday, as Serena was heading for Heathrow, Becca had arranged a Skype chat for Bernie with Chiara so that she could assess her state of mind and health status before talking to Serena. Chiara was pleased to find that Bernie was looking amazingly robust for someone who had survived an explosion, and was very much in possession of the facts of her past. It was just the present they now had to help her navigate.

On Friday, Becca’s phone beeped with a message as they were going to bed. Becca rolled on her side and said “Serena’s with Chiara and Mariam in Djibouti. Let the fun start. What a pair of hopeless match-making ninnies we are! What if it all goes pear-shaped?”

Linda smiled knowingly. “It won’t.”

**Saturday, September 7 th, 3am. Sydney, Australia**

Alex threw her bag wearily onto the bed in her rather nice Air BnB apartment. She felt grubby, her ears were blocked and she had acid indigestion from all the crappy airline food and lack of proper sleep. As she stood under a blessedly hot shower washing the journey away, she wondered what the next few days would reveal. And felt a glimmer of excitement.


	9. Friday the Thirteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena meets Chiara and Mariam in Djibouti and they reassure her that Bernie wants to see her. Serena heads for Australia. Alex goes to MSF in Sydney and tracks down Becca, eventually heading for Darwin. Becca engineers a meeting between Bernie and Serena in Alice Springs. Will Becca's plan work?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for not wrapping this up sooner. Work interfered, as it tends to do. We still have one more chapter, never fear, but this chapter sees our ladies moving ever closer to each other.

**Sunday, September 8 th, Sydney, Australia. **

The sun glaring through the curtains woke Alex in her rented apartment, and she realised from the position that it must be at least noon. She groaned. She had a pneumatic drill excavating the inside of her head, and when she moved, she realised that she was still in the T-shirt and underwear she had worn the previous evening. Her mouth was parched so she reached cautiously for the bottle of water on the bedside table and very gingerly raised herself to a sitting position. After a while her vision cleared and the water eased the dryness sufficiently that she could down a couple of paracetamol. Memories of the previous night filtered back through a fog of beers and shots consumed in a couple of lesbian bars.

Shortly after awakening on her first morning, she had headed out to get a feel for the city, and after a pleasant lunch of Thai noodle soup, she had checked the gay sites to find the best places to hang out in the evening. Later, dressed in her tightest jeans and a form-fitting tee that emphasised her taut muscles, she had gone looking for fun. The question was, had it been worth it? A hundred dollars spent on bar snacks and a lot of drinks, a killing hangover and some fuzzy memories of winning at pool in one bar and flirting with a Scandinavian barmaid in another, and absolutely no idea of how she had got back to her apartment. She assumed her drunk brain had managed to function long enough for her to fall into a taxi going in the right direction. Not a little disgusted with herself, Alex eased herself off the bed, shed her clothes and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later, refreshed and wrapped in a towel, she picked her clothes up off the floor and prepared to drop them in the laundry hamper. She checked the pockets out of habit, emerging with a piece of card torn from a cigarette packet and the name “Anneka” written next to a phone number. She puzzled over it for a moment then shrugged and put it into her wallet.

**Sunday, September 8 th, Djibouti**

“I really don’t know how to thank you,” Serena said to Chiara and Mariam, who had accompanied her to the airport as she waited for her flight back to Doha and thence on to Melbourne. The two Mogadishu-based women had taken over Mariam’s brother’s beachfront apartment in Djibouti, dispatching him to a friend’s house, and treated Serena to a wonderfully relaxing weekend swimming, snorkelling and just lazing about with cocktails and fresh fish cooked over coals. This was the first long break that they had had together themselves, so it was a bit of an effort to keep their hands off each other with Serena around, but they had two more days’ holiday after Serena left, and planned to make the most of it.

The craft gin had been greeted with delight, and G & Ts on the balcony had certainly helped Serena to shed the discomfort and uptightness she had first felt on learning that Chiara, Becca and Fleur had been exchanging information about Bernie behind her back.

“Bernie was in a very bad way when she was brought into the Madina hospital,” Chiara had explained, letting Mariam detail the surgeries she had had to remove her spleen, repair her leg and release pressure on her brain.

“We’re lucky at the Madina,” Chiara had said, taking a sip of her cocktail, “African hospitals can be very rough and ready as I’m sure you know, especially in a poor country like Somalia, but we’re a private hospital with rich benefactors and we have an incredible international team of doctors and all modern equipment. My boss, Avi, for example, is one of the world’s leading authorities on brain trauma. He’s Israeli. And the surgeon who operated on Bernie’s leg is a vascular specialist from Singapore. The spleen was done by an experienced general surgeon from Cuba. So the standard of surgery is very high.”

“The after -care is pretty good, too,” Mariam had put in, squeezing Chiara’s leg. “My nursing team on the trauma ward is made up of nurses from all over. Mostly Africa, but trained in the west or western hospitals. Like me,” she had smiled modestly, and Serena had been struck, not for the first time, by how stunning she was once she broke out that smile.

“So Bernie got absolutely first class care, but that didn’t fix the amnesia. That’s something else altogether. Thank goodness Becca was so keen to get back to Darwin that she took Bernie with her own patients!” Chiara had chuckled.

“Have you actually spoken to Bernie?” Serena had asked falteringly, not a little afraid of what she might hear.

"I have,” Chiara had confirmed, “when you were travelling to get here.”

“And…..how is she?”

“On very good form, I’d say,” Chiara had smiled. “Walking almost normally, doing some bits of work here and there, her memory just about all recovered.”

“And what about the people Bernie’s staying with? Surely she can’t go on staying with them?”

“Well Becca was the nurse who scooped her up at the airport and clamped her leg all the way back to the hospital until the surgeon took over. After that, they seem to have bonded, and now both she and her partner love Bernie and are happy to keep her for as long as she wants. They seem pretty easy-going and friendly, as well. I can’t say I know Bernie at all, but from the conversation I had with her, and what I saw of her in Mogadishu and on the screen, I’m not surprised. She’s adorable.”

Serena had felt a fierce pang of jealousy rise up in her at these words, as if no one but she should dare to find Bernie adorable, but she had choked it down and smiled back. “She _is_ adorable,” she had said, protectively, which had made Mariam touch her arm in sympathy and say “Well, you’ll soon be there. And now we know that Bernie is longing to see you.”

“Really? Is that what she said?”

“She did. Provided you also wanted to see her.”

Tears had come to Serena’s eyes then, but from that moment onwards everything seemed to go into forward gear, and now here she was, on her way to Australia.

“Have you any idea how you’re going to meet up with her?” Mariam asked, as they walked Serena to the departure gate.

“No,” she replied. “I have to visit my cousin first, he and his wife have been waiting for me and it’s been some years since they visited the UK. I’ll sort it out when I get there. You’ve given me Becca’s number so I’ll contact her once I know the score.”

“Probably best not to rush into it,” Chiara advised. “Bernie may need time to prepare herself. Maybe talk to her children and start to come back to her world a little.”

Serena nodded although, knowing Bernie and her difficulties with communication at the best of times, she doubted that that would happen very soon.

“So, please keep in touch,” Mariam said, hugging Serena.

“Oh I will, absolutely. You’ve been so amazing. I hope you’ll come and visit me …us.. some time, that is, assuming we…er..manage to get back together.”

“I have a really good feeling about that,” said Chiara, kissing Serena on both cheeks, Italian style.

**Monday, September 9 th, 2019**

Having spent Sunday recovering from her hangover and walking in the city, it was with fresh enthusiasm that Alex made her way to the offices of MSF in Sydney on Monday morning. At first, the receptionist was reluctant to call a senior colleague as Alex’ enquiry seemed routine, but after a bit of name-dropping and mentioning Somalia, Alex was eventually shown into an office where a senior administration manager was frowning at a laptop screen.

“Yes?” she enquired somewhat brusquely.

“June, this is Alex who has just come from Somalia., the young man explained somewhat nervously. “She’s trying to trace a missing UNSOS officer from that explosion back in July and thinks one of our people may know something about it.”

“Riiight”, June said slowly. “OK, Kien that’s fine, I’ll deal with it.” And Kien gratefully disappeared back to his reception desk.

“Sit,” June indicated the chair in front of her desk. “So how can we help you er…?”

“Alex. Major Alex Dawson, Royal Army Medical Corps, based at UNSOS in Mogadishu,” Alex stood her ground. June sat back in her chair and pushed her glasses up into her hair. Her grey eyes appraised Alex coolly.

“So, Alex, what makes you think MSF may know about your missing officer?”

Alex explained the chaos after the explosion, the Australian patients shipped back to Australia and the nurse who had accompanied them.

“I just want to track down this Rebecca Townsend who might know something about my colleague from when she was in the hospital where most of them were taken.”

“Well have you asked the hospital staff first before coming all this way?” asked June.

“Yes, of course. It was they who gave me the name of the nurse who accompanied the injured Australians.”

“Well they must have been misinformed, because I can tell you with absolute certainty that we have no Rebecca Townsend.”

Alex’ face must have fallen, but June continued. “We do, however, have a Becca Travis up in Darwin who works for us on a semi-regular basis. I believe she was the one who brought the injured back.”

“Darwin? That’s ….”

“Up in the tropics. So before you rush to get on a plane, maybe you should contact her first.”

“Can you give me her number or email?” asked Alex.

“ ‘Fraid not, data protection and all that. But if you leave me your contact number I’ll ask her to call you. How long will you be in Australia?”

“About a week,” Alex replied. “And thank you so much.”

She took out a card showing her UNSOS contact details and her rank, and got up to leave as June put the card on her desk and went straight back to her screen.

**Tuesday, September 10 th, Melbourne, Australia**

It was still a little chilly in the morning in Melbourne but Serena opted to take her breakfast at her cousin John’s outdoor picnic table. His wife, Annie, came out with a tray of juice, scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, John following with the coffee pot, which Serena made an immediate dive for. John McKinnie was the son of her father’s brother, Douglas, and he had emigrated to Australia as a young man after studying Engineering at university, looking for work opportunities. The years had been kind. He was now comfortably retired, a fit and active 65 year old with a sense of adventure. He and his New Zealand born wife, Annie, had two grown up children and were enjoying being on their own and pursuing a range of hobbies.

Serena had arrived at 1am the previous day, and they had sat up till 4am talking and catching up. She had then slept until past midday, and they had continued talking. At some point in the middle of the second bottle of excellent Victoria wine to accompany the barbecued ribs, Serena had told John and Annie about Bernie, and her mission to find her in Darwin. John had pointed out that there were regular flights up to Darwin from Melbourne and that it didn’t pose a problem, but Serena was still holding back.

“Suppose she doesn’t want me just turning up on her doorstep?” she asked, fiddling with her pendant in an agony of indecision.

“I think you should give that Becca a ring,” Annie suggested. “I’m sure they’ll have worked out a plan.”

And so it was. Becca asked Serena when she would be ready to meet Bernie, and Serena, wanting desperately to say “as soon as possible,” but afraid that would not meet with approval, and conscious that she owed John and Annie a few more days at least of her company, finally said “towards the end of the week?”

The response that Serena then got put a look of amazement on her face as she hung up.

“They want me to go to Alice Springs,” she said, slowly.

John clapped his hands and Annie was beaming. “That’s a wonderful idea!” he exclaimed. “That way you get to see some of the most amazing bits of Australia, and you could even drive up to Darwin through the Northern Territory.”.

"I gather that’s what they intend,” Serena said. “They asked me to hire a 4 wheel drive and Bernie will meet me in Alice Springs on Friday.”

“I have an idea,” put in Annie. “Why don’t we all fly to Adelaide tomorrow, hire the car there, and drive to Alice Springs together? That way you’d see more and you could get used to driving a 4WD and on those roads. We could fly back to Melbourne before your meeting with Bernie.”

“What do you think, Serena?” asked John. “Would you like some company?”

Serena was so overcome that for a moment she almost burst into tears.

“I’d love that,” she finally managed.

**Tuesday, September 10 th, Darwin, Australia**

Linda had been on a night shift at her hospital, and Becca had a day off. When Linda woke up mid-afternoon, Becca was sitting out back staring into space.

“What’s up?” Linda asked, coming to sit opposite her.

“Logistics, logistics,” her partner replied mysteriously. “I spoke to Serena a little while ago and she’s ready to make the trip to Alice on Friday. But June at MSF in Sydney called me before that and told me about someone called Alex Dawson who’s looking for Bernie and ready to hotfoot it up to Darwin. She asked me to call her if I have any info about this missing Berenice person.”

“So what’s the plan, genius?”

Becca smiled. “A little subterfuge, I think. But first, Alex can stew for another day. Bernie’s gone over to Kakadu with Marko so I’m just waiting for her to get back. Can’t wait to see her reaction.”

“Do you think one of us should go with her to Alice?” Linda asked, a little worried frown on her face.

“Hmmm….I’d say that’s up to Bernie, wouldn’t you? She can fly down and they can drive back to Darwin from Alice. Bernie knows most of the road now, she’ll be fine. I asked Serena to hire the car because Bernie doesn’t have any paperwork, though Serena will bring all her documentation with her, but it’s easier that way. She’ll have insurance and all that so better if it’s in her name.”

“Right”, Linda agreed, and went to put on a load of laundry before getting ready to head back into work.

It was dark, and Linda had already departed when Bernie came in, sunburned, sweating and exhausted.

“Hey,” Becca said. “Been waiting for you.”

Bernie kicked off her Converse and collapsed on a wooden chair on the deck. Becca joined her holding two cold beers and handed one to a grateful Bernie.

“Has something happened? Have you heard from Serena?” asked Bernie anxiously, taking a long swig of her beer.

“I have,” and Becca told Bernie about the plan for them to meet in Alice Springs and drive back to Darwin.

“But how will Serena get to Alice Springs?” asked Bernie, looking worried.

“She’s a big girl, she’ll figure it out. Besides, she has family in Melbourne so they’ll set her on the right track I’m sure.”

“And what about me? How will I go there?”

“You’re flying. You can’t go commercial without an ID but Marko has a pal who works for a local airline company for cargo and engineers and vets, people who need to get from place to place out in the sticks. He’ll take you on one of his regular runs.”

“Why Alice Springs?” asked Bernie. “Why not Darwin?”

“Well,” Becca stretched. “Firstly, Alice is magic. It’s got a vibe, you’ll both love it. Secondly, it’s neutral territory. Meeting Serena here wouldn’t be right. This is now your territory. You need to meet on neutral ground and restart your relationship. And, you know, I reckon that drive back up here could be the game changer,” she winked.

Bernie didn’t quite get it but she had to agree about the neutral territory.

“You’re right. We do need to meet somewhere else. I’ll take your word for it then. And when is this?”

“This Friday. You’ve now got two days, darlin’ to get your trousseau together!”

Bernie promptly hit Becca over the head with a cushion, and both laughed. Then she quieted and said “Are you really sure this is what Serena wants?”

“Bernie,” said Becca, taking another swig of beer, “go and have a shower, change, relax. I’ll make dinner then you can ask me all the questions in the world.”

Alastair barked his agreement.

**Wednesday, September 11 th 2019\. Sydney, Australia**

When Alex hung up the phone she felt a buzz of excitement in her belly. Her hunch had been right. Bernie was alive, even if, as Becca Travers had said, her memory was pretty wrecked. Alex could hardly believe her luck- if she hadn’t followed up that lead from Joyce Ndungu back in Mogadishu, she would never have tracked her down. The problem now was getting Bernie to remember who Alex was. Becca had said she was still “pretty vague”. It seemed she was staying with Becca and her partner for the time being, and Becca said she had a job of sorts. Something to do with car mechanics, which made Alex chuckle. Typical Bernie, the one who had insisted on learning to drive a tank, and to fix her own jeep out in Afghanistan! Anyway, Becca’s suggestion was for Alex to go up to Darwin and start the process of jogging Bernie’s memory. It seemed Bernie would be out of town tomorrow, so Friday was the best day. Alex went online to look for an air ticket and a hotel. She decided to act cautious and book for just two nights initially and see what was what. Maybe Bernie would recognise her and they could just leave together, but even if it took a while longer, Alex would sort it out.

**Friday, September 13 th, 2019, Australia**

Serena was on her third cup of very strong coffee and had a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. She had only managed a piece of toast for breakfast in the rather nice hotel where she had stayed last night with John and Annie after arriving in Alice Springs. Her cousin had been wonderful- he and Annie had kept her entertained during the entire trip. First the morning flight from Melbourne to Adelaide, then taking possession of the vehicle which John had helped her book. It was an almost new Volkswagen Tiguan, a midsize car that handled as easily as a saloon, for which Serena, not the world’s most confident driver, was grateful. They had managed half the distance on Wednesday, sharing the driving and stopping overnight in a very pleasant motel, then continuing on to Alice Springs with several diversions into National Parks on the way.

“You really should go to see Uluru,” Annie said, “but we don’t have time to do it on this trip. You need a couple of days really, to see it at sunrise and also at sunset. It’s just amazing.”

Serena thought it would be something she’d like to do with Bernie later, but right now she just wanted this wait to be over. She had sent the hotel address to Becca, who had informed her that Bernie would be coming alone and that, because she was taking a local air service which stopped all over the place, she couldn’t guarantee an arrival time except that it would be somewhere between two and three in the afternoon. Serena had booked a double room with an extra bed in case Bernie wasn’t ready for intimacy, but she didn’t want to book an extra room in case Bernie got nervous and thought it meant Serena didn’t want her. She was not unaware of the fact that it was Friday 13th, and despite not being all that superstitious, this was only adding to her anxiety.

“Serena,” John said gently. “You’re torturing that poor piece of bread. Look, our flight isn’t until one-thirty, so why don’t we go out for a walk and a drive, get the feel of Alice Springs?”

Serena looked down at the crust she had pulled apart and dropped the bits shamefacedly onto her plate. John was, of course, right. He and Annie filled Serena’s morning with visits to Aboriginal craft workshops and art galleries, and Serena found the time passing more pleasantly. She also had a really good feeling about the town. They had an early lunch of salads in a small café, then Serena drove John and Annie to the airport. The plan was for her to go back to the hotel to wait for Bernie, but as she was already at the airport, she decided to wait there. She thought she would stay in the car until just after two, then wander over to the terminal and see if she could spot Bernie coming in. If she did miss her, she could always go back to the hotel and find her there. She had parked the car and walked into the departure terminal with John and Annie, hugging them goodbye and promising to go back to visit them before she left Australia. Then, with an hour to kill, she wandered round a couple of the shops in the entrance lobby. Alice Springs is a small domestic airport, so that didn’t take long, but as she browsed, Serena spotted bottles of windscreen wash. John had warned her to refill the windscreen wash bottles because of the quantity they had already used cleaning all the dust and insects off both front and back windscreens repeatedly during the journey. Serena bought two bottles of the wash and retreated to her car to figure out how to refill the bottles before she and Bernie embarked on another journey.

**Friday, September 13 th, 2019. Darwin, Australia**

If Alex had given any thought to the date, it had been no more than a fleeting one, so intent was she on getting to Bernie and making sure she had recovered sufficient memory to welcome Alex’ arrival. She hoped that Bernie would be pleased that she, of all people, had been the one to track her down and go to her rescue after she had accidentally ended up on the wrong continent.

Alex’ flight from Sydney to Darwin landed on time at 12.30 pm. There was a 90 minute time difference between the cities, which gave Alex the opportunity to get herself organised. She collected her rental at the airport and set her GPS for the small MSF office in the Darwin CBD.

Darwin was a much busier city than she had imagined, and traffic was quite heavy in the middle of the day. When she found a parking spot and got out of the car, the heat and humidity, so unlike the gentle warmth of the Sydney springtime, enveloped her in a hot blanket not unlike the heat and humidity of Mogadishu, in fact.

Becca had arranged to be in the MSF office that day, ostensibly to start preparations for her next assignment, which would be Indonesia in mid-October. Normally, preparations were done in Sydney, but there were small things Becca could pretend to be busying herself with as far as her colleagues were concerned. When Alex arrived, she asked for Becca, and the receptionist buzzed her though to the back room where Becca was reading situation reports from the Indonesian team. Becca was a little surprised at first by how young Alex looked and how attractive. Yet as they talked and warmed a little to each other, Becca could also see how absolutely wrong Alex was for Bernie. It wasn’t anything specific she could put her finger on, but there was something in Alex’ manner that told her that Alex didn’t fully understand Bernie, would never fully understand her. Bernie had been living with Becca and Linda now for almost two months and they had watched her regain her personality and build her confidence step by painful step. Becca loved Bernie fiercely. She had seen the pain that regaining her memory had brought, had felt her lack of self-confidence in her relationships, yet had also seen how easily she had managed to charm Becca, Linda and Becca’s brother, Mark. Not with arrogance or cockiness, which Alex seemed to have as her defence against the world, but with a shy modesty overlaid by a wicked sense of humour and touching lack of street smarts. Major Dawson, in her tight jeans, designer trainers and know- it -all grin was the polar opposite.

“So I was wondering, how can I meet Bernie? In your house? Or in a neutral location?” Alex asked.

Becca coughed. “I’m really sorry, Alex, but it looks as though today is a goner. When you were on your way here this morning, Bernie got a call to go to Alice Springs to pick up a car and drive back. When I got up, she’d already gone and just left a note. I didn’t tell her about your visit in advance, I thought we could just take it steady, you know. Would you be OK to hang around Darwin for a while?”

If Alex was disappointed, she did her best not to show it. Becca seemed sincere, and Alex didn’t want to piss anyone off. She had come halfway round the world to find the love of her life, so a few more days made no real difference. She had a month’s leave, and if she had to spend it all in Australia, that wasn’t the end of the world.

“Sure,” she replied, forcing a smile.

**Friday, September 13 th 2019, Alice Springs, Australia.**

By the time the small plane finally landed at Alice Springs airport, Bernie’s bum and lower back were giving her hell. She had set out at 7am with Mark taking her to the terminal for Northern Star Air Services. Here she had been fed coffee and doorsteps of toast dripping in butter while Mark and the pilot, Steve Robertson, shot the breeze, joked and chatted as Steve supervised the loading of his aircraft.

Bernie had managed only half the toast but was on her second mug of strong coffee when Mark and Steve came over to tell her they were ready for departure. Bernie had agonised for once over what to wear, but on being told that she would be spending half a day cooped up in a small plane, had opted for her black skinny jeans with a scoop neck white tee under a lightweight white cotton shirt with a pink stripe. And white Converse. Of course. Her smarter clothes and some spare travelling gear were in the tote bag on her shoulder. Linda’s friend, Neesha, who had a mobile hairdressing business, had come to cut her hair and redo her roots, although Bernie had flatly refused to have any fancy styling done. She didn’t need it, Linda had thought, seeing Bernie off in the early morning, noting her firm, toned arms (now devoid of tattoos) and attractive tan, which had brought out a few freckles around her nose. She was drop dead gorgeous as she was, although Bernie herself was the last person on earth to be aware of it.

Bernie was naturally nervous. She longed to see Serena, had felt her absence even through the fog of amnesia, until that critical moment when her memory had returned. But the fact that they had split up and had, in effect, now been separated for nine months, made her wonder how they could bridge that gap. Bernie no longer had anything on her horizon. She assumed that her injuries, plus her age, would lead to a second and final honourable discharge from the RAMC. She had no desire to return to Mogadishu in any capacity after the horror of what she had experienced. She had loved Nairobi, but the last 6 months had been sad and had exposed her also to the fear of being outed as gay. She was now too old to dissemble and lie. Her future lay in being honest about who she was, and finding the right place. For a while, Australia had fitted that bill. She was curious to see what Serena would make of it.

Steve had climbed into his cockpit and motioned for Bernie to follow. She had got up and hoisted her bag. Mark had stepped forward and grabbed her in a bear hug. She sensed he was close to tears.

“Take care, Bernie and good luck. We’re all thinking of you. And please, please, please come back!”

“I will, don’t worry,” she had reassured him in as businesslike a tone as she could manage as she disentangled herself and climbed into the plane.

“Over here,” Steve had beckoned from the front, indicating the co-pilot’s seat.

“Really?” Bernie was thrilled.

“Yeah- I’ve got a bloke joining us in Tenant Creek for the last leg and he’ll take co-pilot, but for now we’re on our own. Medical Supplies to Fish River, Auto parts to Pine Creek, and three more stops before Alice. It’ll be fun- I love a bit of company.”

He had offered her a headset and flipped some switches. Someone had slammed the loading hatch shut and the propellors had started whirring.

Now, five and a half hours later, her limbs cramped, nauseated from four take offs and landings and innumerable bumpy air pockets, Bernie was relieved to be back on solid ground and to stretch her legs. The last drop had been cancelled after the co-pilot in Tennant Creek had told Steve they had rescheduled, so Bernie arrived in Alice Springs earlier than planned, shortly after 2pm. Steve got a mate to run her from the Northern Star Air Terminal round to the main passenger terminal where she could get a taxi into town. The first thing Bernie did was head for the toilets where she freshened up, washed her face and hands and pushed her hands through her hair. Then, avoiding looking at her eyes in the mirror so as not to see and feel the doubts and fears now rushing back, she strode purposefully out of the building and looked for a taxi. Of course, there were none. No flights were expected for another hour at least and the last flight had departed over thirty minutes before. Seeing her shielding her eyes and looking around, an airport worker indicated the car park across the road, where Bernie could vaguely see a few vehicles with a ‘Taxi’ sign on top slumbering in the afternoon heat.

She crossed the road and headed for the front row of parked cars. To get to the taxis parked on the right, she had to enter though a gate on the left. There were one or two other vehicles parked in front of that gate. One had the bonnet up and Bernie could see a woman bending over the engine holding a bottle of something. As Bernie approached, the woman straightened, and Bernie saw short, silvery hair and a shapely body encased in a clinging turquoise top and black capris. Her heart started beating faster. Something in the woman’s stance was dinging in her head and as she watched, the woman glanced towards her, fiddling with a pendant around her neck. Bernie felt her heart would explode. The woman’s deep chocolate eyes began to register recognition at the same time that Bernie, struggling to control her voice, asked “Engine been growling or whining?”


	10. Into the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter (barring a little epilogue) in which our ladies reconnect and everyone is set for happy ending. Well, almost everyone......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This comment of Serena's refers to the famous case of Peter Falconio and Joanne Lees who supposedly met a murderer on the road from Ti-Tree northwards at night. This is an absolutely gripping documentary and a great introduction to the atmospherics of the Northern Territory!
> 
> https://www.channel4.com/programmes/murder-in-the-outback

**Sunday, September 15 th, 2019. Alice Springs- The Stuart Highway, Australia. **

“You take the first stretch,” said Bernie.

“Oh, don’t trust your own driving?” Serena teased.

“No, it’s not that, but I know the road further ahead and it gets more difficult. If you’re not used to it,” she added hastily, colouring delicately at the implicit suggestion that she was the better driver. Which she was. Indubitably. But no need to rub it in.

Serena raised an eyebrow. She knew exactly what was going on. She knew Bernie so well. And this was _her_ Bernie, restored to her, damaged but intact and with all her endearing character quirks in place. If on Friday she had been unsure, the two nights they had just spent in Alice Springs, although not yet fully intimate, had confirmed what she had always known in her deepest heart- that Bernie was her soulmate, and that she had better hang on to her for dear life this time.

She put the VW in gear and they moved out of the car park and onto the highway.

“And so begins our new adventure,” Serena said softly, giving Bernie a tender smile as she looked left.

“Are you OK with that?” Bernie asked anxiously. “I mean, you’re happy to go to Darwin with me before…before…”

“….before we decide what the future holds? Yes, Bernie, of course I am. Apart from anything else, I’m desperate to meet this Becca Travers and give her a big kiss for saving your life.”

The thought of Serena trying to kiss the decidedly unsentimental Becca made Bernie laugh, but she held it in, out of delicacy. Serena would see for herself soon enough. 

Luckily for Serena, the route they took was entertainingly diverse for the first 100km or so. Then it became progressively more monotonous. Bernie finally persuaded Serena to take a rest at a stop called Ti -Tree, where they had refreshments and refilled their water bottles. After that, Bernie took the next, longest leg to Tennant Creek, where she had spent time with Mark and his damaged ute.

The road was monotonous, but it was not so demanding that it didn’t allow more thoughtful conversation. Serena tried not to push Bernie too hard, knowing that her recent trauma might not have fully receded, but Bernie had other questions. They had been talking now for two days, but there was still so much unexplored between them in the ten month gap since they had last seen each other.

“When Alex came to see you and told you I was missing presumed dead, is that when she said we were engaged?” she wanted to know.

Serena hesitated- was this the right time to reopen the can of worms that was Alex?

“Yes,” Serena admitted.

“And did you just believe her, right off the bat?”

“Why wouldn’t I believe her?” asked Serena calmly. “I let you go, you told me you wouldn’t be lonely, and, well, with Alex on the scene, I imagined….”

“You imagined I could get back with her?” Bernie asked, seemingly incredulous.

“Well, what else could I imagine, Bernie. It seemed all too plausible.”

Bernie fell silent for half a kilometre. Then she said. “I didn’t mean anything by that ‘lonely’ comment, you know. I just didn’t want you to feel bad about cutting me loose. Alex was nowhere on my horizon at that point, believe me.”

“And when she appeared on the scene? Nairobi was it? What happened then, if I can ask?”

“Of course you can ask. Yes, I went back to Nairobi, but I had resigned from my contract at the University hospital and they didn’t want to reconsider. So one of my colleagues introduced me to the Aga Khan, a private hospital, quite a good one. When I got there I found they had UNSOS personnel and that some were seconded from the RAMC. That’s when Alex showed up and persuaded me to rejoin the regiment and get seconded to UNSOS. I was glad to see a friendly face, but I never gave her any encouragement. She did try once or twice to get intimate again, but I wasn’t interested.”

“And the holiday in Cyprus?” Serena couldn’t help asking.

Bernie gave a short laugh. “Ha! So she told you about that, did she? Well, yes, I went because we had a week’s leave and I was tired, and frankly, I had no other plans. But if she imagined it was going to be a romantic few days, she was wrong. I took my laptop and wrote a paper for the BMJ on …”

“…Blast Injuries in Children,” Serena completed her sentence.

“You read it?” Bernie seemed surprised.

“Of course I did. It was brilliant. But do go on. Cyprus…”

Bernie blushed a little, then continued. “Right, so it was just a few days away, that’s all. We had this villa by the sea, two bedrooms. She tried to come in mine the first night but I told her straight, I wasn’t up for that any more.”

“Ouch..and how did she react?”

“She told me I was a fool to keep thinking about you when you clearly didn’t want me, and that now I had accepted that I was a lesbian, I should relax and enjoy myself.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Bernie turned her head and looked Serena squarely in the eyes. “Because all I could think about was you, Serena. You were the love of my life, whether you wanted me or not. Alex could never compete with that, and I don’t think she really believed she could.”

As she turned back to the road, Bernie glimpsed a silvery trail rolling down Serena’s cheek from under the edge of her sunglasses before Serena raised a hand to wipe it away.

“What a fool I was, Bernie,” Serena said through her tears. “All I thought about was you, too, and how you were the love of my life. But I thought I had forfeited the right to that love.”

“And that is how people lose each other,” Bernie said tightly. “But I need to take some responsibility for that, too. You may have pushed me a little, but I walked. And I should have stayed and fought for us.”

Serena put her hand on Bernie’s leg with a sudden, instinctive need for connection. She gave a little squeeze. Bernie twitched violently and the car veered towards the middle of the road.

“Christ, Serena, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” she said, wrenching the wheel back.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I had no idea you’d jump like that,” Serena said, clearly shocked by Bernie’s reaction.

“Phew, heart rate coming back down now, but it’s been so long since anyone touched me like that. I was just…. I mean I..” she began to colour and stammer and Serena gave a little smirk.

“Well luckily there’s not much traffic about,” she said, with a flutter of her eyelashes.

Bernie glanced in the rearview mirror, where a car with flashing lights was rapidly gaining on them.

“Except the wrong kind,” she replied, slowing and indicating to pull over. “Find my documents, would you?”

The police officer who got out of his car to approach them was tall, fair, in his thirties and with a slight swagger.

“Touch of the zig-zags back there, ladies,” he said, fixing them with a very blue stare.

“I’m so sorry, officer,” Bernie said earnestly. “My earring fell out and I was trying to reach it.”

“On holiday, are you?” he enquired, “seeing as your car is a rental from Adelaide.”

Serena leaned over, lowering her sunglasses and giving him her most flirtatious smile.

“We’re on our way to Darwin,” she said, “family reunion. Thought we’d take a look at your famous Northern Territory. Wasn’t there a murder somewhere around here a few years ago?”*

The officer tried not to roll his eyes, but plainly he had been asked that question far too many times by tourists.

“Something like that, but believe me, that was a one off. It’s quite safe, but we do suggest you stop at nightfall and get off the road for your own safety. Not from murderers so much, but wild animals crossing in the dark, stuff like that. There’s more than enough dead roos left by the roadside as it is. Now, can I see some ID?”

Serena handed over their two passports and UK driving licences. The officer grunted.

“OK, seems in order. Now drive carefully, no more zig zags. Maybe take your earrings out and put them somewhere safe, eh?” and he started walking away.

“Thank you, officer,” called Bernie, starting the engine. The police car didn’t follow when they pulled back onto the highway and resumed their journey.

“You dropped your earring…” Serena began, laughing. "You're not even wearing any!"

“Well I could hardly say my lover squeezed my leg and provoked a rather strong reaction, could I?” Bernie replied, her eyes still on the road.

“Really? Did I?”

“You know you did and stop smirking. Just wait until we get to Tennant Creek!”

“I’m looking forward to it immensely,” Serena replied. Bernie bit her lip but refrained from taking that line of conversation any further.

“It’s funny, I’ve driven all over the Northern Territory these last two months on another woman’s licence and I’ve never once been stopped,” she said, and proceeded to entertain Serena with tales of her work as a mechanic, all the way to Tennant Creek.

**Sunday, September 15 th, 2019. Darwin, Australia.**

Alex was not in a good mood. She had spent Friday evening and Saturday mooching around Darwin waiting for Becca to tell her that Bernie was back, but late on Saturday evening, Becca had called her to tell her Bernie was still in Alice Springs and was planning to be there for another two or three days.

“So what if I just drove down to Alice?” Alex had asked, not being the sort of person who takes kindly to waiting around.

“You could, yes,” Becca had said. “In fact, that might be a good idea. I can give you the name of the hotel where she’s staying. She’s working for my brother, and it’s all rather unpredictable from what he tells me.”

“OK….and what about her phone number? Could I just call her?”

Becca had hesitated. “You know, Alex, I’m not at all sure Bernie is ready for this kind of shock. I think phoning her could be worse than showing up. She might panic. Or just cut you off. Look, I’ll give you the name of the hotel, and I’ll call her to tell her someone from back home has been looking for her, so she’s prepared.”

“Someone from Africa,” Alex had insisted. “’Back home’ is too vague and could panic her even more. She’s not on good terms with her ex - husband or her daughter, for example.”

“Right. Africa it is. Good luck. Let me know when you find her and how she reacts.”

Alex had agreed somewhat curtly. She had no reason to suspect Becca of anything but there was something in all this cloak and dagger stuff that didn’t sit right with her. Had something happened to Bernie to change her? Had she, God forbid, actually met a new person? Alex packed her stuff and set off early the following morning for the 2 day drive to Alice, glad to get out of the humid fug of Darwin and head for some clean, dry air.

When she had hung up, Becca had caught both Mark, who had come for dinner, and Linda looking at her with appalled expressions.

“Aren’t you being a bit rough on her, Bec?” Mark had asked. “I mean, Bernie can take care of herself. She’ll soon send Alex packing if that’s not what she wants.”

“I need to be sure Bernie is safely back with Serena.”

“Well isn’t she?” he had demanded.

Linda had answered. “I spoke to her a couple of hours ago and they’re planning to leave Alice to start driving back here tomorrow. They seem to be OK, but from what Bernie said, I don’t think the sexual connection is quite there yet. But it won’t be long,” she had put in hastily. “Which is why I think we shouldn’t mess Alex around any longer.”

“I’m not messing her around,” Becca had protested. “As soon as Bernie checks in, I’ll get her to phone Alex to say sorry, she’s back with Serena. Alex can then get a flight back to Sydney from there or whatever. No need for them to meet.”

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing,” Linda had remarked. “Let’s just hope they don’t cross paths somewhere along the line.”

**Sunday, September 15 th 2019\. Tennant Creek, NT, Australia**

It was only 3.30pm when Bernie pulled into the gas station in Tennant Creek. She hadn’t booked a room because she knew there would be plenty of choice and now she was glad. Knowing that Darwin was a 10 hour drive from here, she thought it made sense to get a bit further along before nightfall.

Serena got out of the car and visited the restroom while Bernie filled the tank. She also had a look in the mini mart and came back with bottles of water.

“So are we going to stay here tonight?” she asked.

Bernie hesitated. Tennant Creek was arguably the most developed and comfortable place to stop in the middle stretch between Darwin and Alice, but she had a sudden attack of nerves. There were still hours till nightfall. While she was driving, they could talk but Bernie could stay in her comfort zone. In Alice they had shared a room and even a bed, but both had held back from direct sexual contact, feeling barriers still to be dissolved. There had been kissing and cuddling, and God knows, Bernie had felt aroused enough, but she was still wary. Making love with Serena was like crossing a final frontier to the ultimate commitment. And Bernie was still trying to process what that would mean for her, for the rest of her life. So her cowardice made her suggest that they drive on, maybe another hour and a half, to a place called Renner Springs Desert Inn, which seemed to have good reviews.

Serena raised her eyebrows but said nothing, just going back to the minimart to fetch coffee and muffins while they took a short rest break. It was during this break that Serena decided to approach what she privately thought might be a taboo subject.

“Bernie, it strikes me that I’m the only person from your past – except for Fleur- who knows you’re alive. What about your kids? Cameron? Charlotte? What about Marcus? Jason? Surely they deserve to know you’re not dead?”

Bernie took a gulp of her coffee and sat back on the log at the outdoor picnic table.

“I..I haven’t told anyone, Serena. I don’t know how to do it. They’ll be mad at me. I was hoping you could help me when we get to Darwin.”

“Only then? Does it matter where we do it? It’s just that I feel very bad- I took all your personal documents to come here and said nothing to Cameron. If he decides to go and get your box of things he’s in for a big shock. I think we need to let him and Charlotte and Jason know as soon as possible. Look, I’m happy to do it for you. All you need to do is wave. Then let them process it and you can all talk later. “

Bernie toyed with a beermat. “Serena, could you do that? Let them know. I..I just can’t talk to them yet. But it’s fine that they know I’m still alive.”

Serena smiled and looked down at her phone. ‘OK, well we’re now nine and a half hours ahead of the UK, so it’s early morning there. How about we start with Jason?”

Bernie opened her mouth to speak but found she couldn’t. She looked terrified. Serena patted her hand.

“Jason is actually the best person to start with. He’s logical and sensible and he will process the information and pass it on to Cameron in a totally practical way. He may want to say hello to you. Bernie swallowed and nodded.

Serena sent Jason a message on WhatsApp and a few minutes later he called. Luckily, it was audio only, thought Bernie, who was sure she looked like a half-strangled chicken, pale and terrified, her throat all closed up. But Serena was right. Jason was at first disbelieving, then when Serena explained the amnesia, the recovery time, how she had tracked her down, he gradually came round. Finally, Serena handed the phone to Bernie.

“Bernie?” came Jason’s excited voice. “You’re not dead!”

“No, Jason, I’ve recovered. I’m sorry I couldn’t contact anyone but …”

“Yes, yes, Auntie Serena explained, you had amnesia, I understand. I’m so, so happy you’re alive. I told Guinevere all about you, you know! Now she’ll have a chance to actually know you. When are you coming home? “

Bernie looked so panic-stricken that Serena took the receiver and explained that they had not yet had that discussion but that she and Bernie would get in touch again once they had reached Bernie’s temporary accommodation in Darwin, and that Serena would be extremely grateful if Jason could call Cameron, perhaps this evening UK time, and relay the details. She emphasised that Cameron could call her any time, when he was ready to speak to her and his mother. She thought he might accept it better from Jason than her. Jason readily agreed and Serena hung up.

“See? Not so scary.”

Bernie gulped and nodded, sliding off the log and dusting down her jeans.

“So let’s… let’s just press on then.”

They had spent over an hour in Tennant Creek so by the time they got to Renner Springs, dusk was advancing rapidly. Bernie had called ahead to book a room, knowing that there was only one decent motel. 

The room was pleasant, with air conditioning and a window overlooking the small homestead surrounded by the stark Northern Territory landscape.

“Wow, I feel so hot and dusty, I think I’ll take a shower,” Bernie said, still a little nervous.

“That’s fine, darling,” Serena said, smiling tenderly. “After all that driving and emotional upheaval I’m sure it will make you feel better. Go ahead, I can wait.”

Bernie grabbed some clean clothes from her bag and fled to the bathroom. When she came out, trying to pull the knots from her wet hair, Serena had stripped to her underwear. Bernie looked, then looked away, which made Serena smirk even more.

“Need any help?” she asked sweetly as she passed on her way to the bathroom.

“Nnoo, I have a brush somewhere,” Bernie stammered as Serena rolled her eyes affectionately.

When they were ready to go down for dinner, Serena, now in cool navy linen trousers and a pink silk blouse over a camisole top, couldn’t help but marvel at how Bernie, she of the missing hairbrush who had thrown her clothes on in the damp bathroom, could look so amazingly elegant and gorgeous in tight, berry-coloured jeans and a plain white Oxford shirt, just a touch of lip gloss giving her a polished glow. She offered her arm.

“Shall we?” and Bernie took it and they sauntered down to the dining room.

The food was as good as advertised. Bernie had the river trout with a delicious horseradish dressing, and Serena the crispy pork belly with a spiced apple sauce. Hunger was the first thing on their minds, then, as their appetites slowed and they pondered dessert, the Shiraz bottle three quarters empty, the conversation turned more intimate. Serena had found Bernie’s legs under the table and, slipping off her espadrille, ran her bare foot over Bernie’s ankle. Bernie shivered.

“So me touching you in the car, that was really you reacting? I mean positively?”

“You know it was, Serena,” Bernie admitted, keeping her eyes down. 

The aboriginal waitress chose that moment to pass by the table and Serena ordered a chocolate orange mousse “and two spoons”, which made the girl giggle as she wrote it down. Bernie just blushed even harder.

The mousse when it came was generous for one, perfect for two, and was dark with the tang of bitter orange, and a light layer of crème fraiche. Serena dug in her spoon and offered it to Bernie, who took it into her mouth with an expression of pure desire that hit Serena somewhere low in the belly. Serena then used the same spoon to feed herself and met Bernie’s eyes as her taste buds exploded. The sensory overload – the flavours, the way Serena was looking at her, the foot caressing her ankle, not to mention the long day and the wine-was having its effect. Serena had seated herself to one side of Bernie rather than opposite, so that they could share food. With the next spoonful, Serena leaned forward, and after removing the spoon and waiting for Bernie to swallow, she moved in to kiss her, tasting the chocolate and orange flavours in Bernie’s mouth along with the flavour of Bernie herself that was oh so familiar. Bernie, sensing what was about to happen, had no defence. As Serena’s lips met hers, she gave a helpless whimper and began kissing back, reaching to thread a hand into the short hairs at the back of Serena’s neck.

Serena was the first to pull back. “No need to give them all a show,” she murmured, patting her hair self-consciously.

“Let’s get out of here,” Bernie growled, getting to her feet and waving at the waitress who had been covertly watching them. When she arrived, Bernie scrawled their room number hastily on the bill and took Serena by the hand.

“Have a lovely evening, ladies,” the waitress said, still giggling.

***

Alex had planned to reach Tennant Creek by nightfall, but the relentless sun, the weak air conditioning in her small economy car and the monotony of the road made her decision for her. She had had a one hour stop for lunch somewhere and two stops for coffee and water, and now, at six- thirty with dusk falling, she made the decision to overnight at Renner Springs Desert Motel, which she saw had reasonable reviews. She had called ahead from Katherine to book a room. Alex figured that as this was just a little over halfway between Darwin and Alice Springs, she deserved a break, and could make Alice by late afternoon the following day.

By the time she had showered and made it down to the dining room, it was packed and the waitress could only find her a small table in the corner. Alex ordered the freshwater prawn gumbo and a local beer and sat back to take in her surroundings. The other diners all seemed to be travellers, judging by their clothes and the enthusiasm with which they were greeting everything around them. Alex caught a sudden flash of blonde hair on the other side of the room and her attention hardened. _Don’t be silly,_ she told herself. What are the odds that Bernie would be here? Besides, the blonde woman, whose back was to Alex, was with a companion. Alex turned her attention to her food, which was excellent, and didn’t think about the blonde woman again until she heard a very distinctive laugh. The room had been packed, but several diners had left and Alex now had a clearer view of the blonde woman’s table. There was a familiarity to the woman’s posture as she pushed her hair back. And that laugh- was that her or someone else? Alex fumbled for her driving glasses and peered across the room. With the greater clarity of vision offered by her lenses, she was just in time to see the blonde woman’s dining companion, who was seated beside her, half turn in her chair and kiss the blonde woman on the mouth. It wasn’t a chaste kiss. Alex heard the sharp intake of breath from the waitress, who had been standing near her table, and realised that she wasn’t the only one to witness this. The kiss was short, but as the companion pulled away, her face came into view and Alex could plainly identify her. No question at all. Serena Campbell. It was only two months since Alex had been with Serena in England and her features were very familiar. Alex felt herself grow hot. Then cold, as she sat wondering what to do. In the hiatus, the blonde woman, who Alex could now clearly identify as Bernie, got up from the table, beckoning to the waitress, and after scribbling on the bill, took Serena by the hand and exited the dining room. Alex kept her glasses on and looked down, mortified, as Serena seemed to glance in her direction. Mercifully, they were soon gone, and Alex felt tears come to her eyes. Keeping the glasses on as camouflage, she summoned the waitress and signed her own bill, then made her way outside, where she sat for a good half hour as the night grew colder, unable to make sense of what she had just seen. How had Serena found out that Bernie was alive, when she, Alex, had been in Mogadishu making enquiries? And had Bernie really lost her memory, or had this been a ruse to put Alex off? Alex thought of calling Becca Travers and giving her a piece of her mind, but then she realised that Becca may have been as ignorant of the Serena connection as she was, and that she, Alex, would just look like a jealous fool and a bad loser.

Shivering as the temperature dropped rapidly, Alex wandered back inside to the bar, unable to contemplate going to her room in case she was within earshot of the couple’s room. As she proceeded to down enough beers and whisky shots to anesthetise herself before sleep, she resolved to book a flight out of Alice Springs back to Sydney as soon as she woke up in the morning.

**Monday, September 16 th 2019**

Bernie awoke to the unfamiliar sensation of another body entangled with hers. The body was warm and making her feel too hot. Her bladder was also calling for relief. Bernie looked at the mussed silver hair on the pillow next to hers, and a wave of pure love came over her. But her left arm was trapped under Serena’s body and going numb, and Serena had hooked an ankle round Bernie’s calf, presumably to prevent her from escaping in the night. Bernie moved her leg cautiously, the movement alerting her to the fact that they were both naked, which meant, well, Bernie felt herself getting even hotter, but she had to go to the bathroom. Finally, she managed to slide her arm free and rolled to the edge of the bed. Serena grunted and turned over, grabbing Bernie’s pillow. Bernie held her breath for a few seconds, but Serena did not wake, and she could make her escape.

On re-entering the bedroom, Bernie, now self-conscious in her nakedness, pulled on the shirt she had been wearing the previous evening and sat cross-legged on the end of the bed watching Serena. After a few minutes, Serena half-opened her eyes and murmured “C’mere you!”, so Bernie moved up and lay beside Serena on top of the bed.

“Too many clothes,” Serena complained, fiddling with the shirt buttons. Bernie held her breath. Last night they had made love in semi-darkness and she had given no thought to the new web of scars criss-crossing her body. In the cold light of day, this was a different matter. Serena finally pulled the shirt front open and stopped short at the unfamiliar landscape. Below the now smooth, faded scar bisecting her chest was a new, still reddish scar from her splenectomy. Serena said “Oh, Bernie,” and moved in to kiss the puckered scar tenderly. Bernie caressed Serena’s head, and when she raised it, she said “Now go on, look at my leg, let’s get this over with.” Serena dropped her gaze to Bernie’s left leg, still slightly thinner than the right, with a whole patchwork of scars where the bomb shrapnel had been removed and her veins repaired.

“That’s excellent surgical work”, she remarked, trying not to react in a way that would make Bernie feel even more self-conscious.

“But hardly pretty,” Bernie said.

“Bernie,” Serena protested, “all I care about is that you’re still alive and here with me. I would love you whatever damage you had sustained. In fact, I love you even more now that I’ve seen them, they’re proof of your survival.”

Bernie looked at her, at the love shining in her eyes and pulled her up so that their faces were level.

“And I’m so in love with the fact that you, Serena Campbell, came halfway round the world to find me and bring us back together,” and she moved to kiss Serena deeply, pulling their bodies together as Serena moaned and pushed the shirt from her shoulders.

“We don’t need to check out just yet, do we?” she asked, moving in for another kiss.

**Monday, September 16 th, 2019**

Alex surrendered her rental car at the Alice Springs airport and went to the check in desk. She had driven for six hours straight with a single stop to get this nightmare over with as soon as possible. All the way to Alice from Renner Springs she saw again the way Serena had kissed Bernie, and how Bernie had taken her hand and pulled her from the dining room, no doubt in haste to get her into the bedroom. Alex cursed herself for a fool. She remembered the look on Serena’s face when she had told her that she and Bernie had been engaged. Sadness, yes, but a deep pain that radiated out from Serena’s inner core. Alex had not thought, when she made the decision to embroider her account of Bernie’s last months, of the pain this would cause Serena. All that had mattered to her at that time had been staking her own claim. Yet Alex knew, had always known, that whatever had once existed between her and Bernie could never be revived after Serena Campbell had stolen Bernie’s heart. She had cried as she drove down the highway, tears mostly of self-pity, but also of remorse, seeing now how foolish her pursuit had been of the woman she had so loved and admired, but who could never be hers.

Alex’s flight to Sydney would soon be boarding and she had dried her tears and tried to adjust her mind to the fact that she still had three weeks holiday left and was in Australia. A thought came, and she reached into her wallet and found the crumpled piece of paper bearing a name and number. Pulling out her phone she began to compose a message:

_Hi Anneka, I’ll be back in Sydney tonight for another week or more. Wondered if you’d be free for drinks/dinner some time……………………_


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all's well that ends well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience in staying to the end of this saga. I never could resist a little epilogue, and I know how Berena fans love a happy sappy ending. So if sappy isn't your thing, don't read on!

**November 1 st, 2019, Darwin, Australia**

Becca looked at the newspaper with a critical air. Mark was sitting across from her, ever the excited puppy waiting to be patted.

“Have you shown this to Bernie yet?” asked Linda, trying to pre-empt what she was sure would be a harsh comment from Becca.

“No,” he admitted, “but she was happy to do the interview.” He looked from Becca to Linda and saw that there was something he must have missed.

Becca looked down at the picture heading the article in which a sexily dungaree-clad Bernie, toned arms on display, was leaning over an open car engine, giving a shy smile to the camera. The headline read “From Livers and Spleens To Alternators and Gearboxes,” and profiled the famous “attractive, blonde” British trauma surgeon who had apparently had a mid-career change to car maintenance.

Becca groaned. “It’s just a bit … tacky. Once the punters know you have a sex bomb in your garage, she’ll be swamped.”

“Business is up 300%,” Mark announced proudly.

"Since when? The paper only went on sale this morning,” Linda pointed out.

Mark looked sheepish. “I might have given a few people a heads up about the article,” he confessed.

Becca drew a big breath, ready to give him a blasting, but at that moment there was a ring on the doorbell and Alastair began barking. Becca glared at Mark and got up to answer it. She came back with Serena.

“Hi, Serena….you know the door is always open so just come in. This is a public thoroughfare,” Linda said, reaching to stroke Alastair, who was fussing happily round Serena.

“Well thanks- but why the glum faces? What’s going on?” Serena asked, putting her shopping bag, with the distinctive clink of wine bottles inside, on the floor.

Linda gestured to the newspaper, which Serena bent over to read. Becca had put her head on the table. “Marko, you are such a drongo,” she groaned.

But Serena was laughing. “Oh…wait till Bernie sees this…” she spluttered.

“It’s funny? She’ll like it?” Linda asked, surprised.

“Well,” Serena wiped her eyes. “I wouldn’t say she’d love it, because as you know, she’s quite modest, but you’ve got to admit, it has a certain .. _je ne sais quoi ,”_ and she started laughing again, while Mark looked puzzled.

“And by the way, you know she’s due here in,” consulting her watch.. “about five minutes, don’t you? Something about a Saturday night barbecue?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Shit, fuck, I completely forgot,” and Becca got to her feet yelling “Give me a hand, Linda,”.

Serena put her hand on Linda’s shoulder and said quietly, “I’ll go and help in the kitchen. You deal with the Sex Bomb when she arrives.” And she sauntered off chuckling, followed by Alastair, nose twitching and tail wagging happily.

Later, over the detritus of their grilled seafood and rice salad, Bernie poured herself another glass of the fabulous Western Australian rosé that she had come to love and said “Well, I suppose it’s OK. I did give my permission after all. But if we’re going to be inundated with spying tourists, we’ll have to put a stop to it.”

“I have an idea,” Serena said, putting her left arm round Bernie’s neck and drinking from her Shiraz glass with the other. Her voice was not exactly steady.

“I don’t know if you know, but I have a Harvard MBA. So, well, I just thought, while I’m technically just reaching the end of my tourist visa, I could apply for a job. As Mark’s Accountant and Business Manager.”

“What?” Bernie exclaimed. “You’re not serious, surely?”

Mark, who had drowned his sorrows in strong ale, looked at her blearily.

“I’m perfectly…hic..serious,” Serena said. “I may not be one hundred percent sober right now, but I mean it. I’ll take over his business accounts and marketing and we’ll drive the business upwards. Bernie and I will make Travers’ Motors the shining pearl of the Northern Territory. And everyone will know we’re together – so invite your tabloid buddies to that little party!”

“On one condition,” Bernie was on board and had steel in her voice. Mark flapped his hand “Go for it”.

“You won’t pay Serena, but you’ll use the extra income generated to invest in training for Timbo”. Timothy- known as Timbo, was the aboriginal assistant Mark had had before Bernie came on the scene. He was keen and not unintelligent but since Bernie had arrived, Mark had relegated him to a lower position.

Mark looked thoughtful. “I’d love to do that,” he said. “I couldn’t afford it before. But why will I need 2 assistants? Plus a Business Manager?”

“Because you’ll be _busy_ ,” said Becca, exasperated. “Once these two get ahold of your business, you’re gonna fly, brother. But it’s just a leg up, not a lifetime, geddit?”

The party ended in the usual fashion, Mark, Becca and Linda smoking pot on the back deck and getting progressively more incoherent, while Bernie and Serena were offered the use of the guest room, where Bernie used to live and where Serena had stayed for her first week in Darwin.

“Did you bring night things?” asked Bernie.

Serena shook her head. “Who cares?" she said, snuggling into Bernie’s chest as they lay fully clothed on the bed, having sobered up a bit over coffee before retiring.

“You know, that might work,” Bernie said, thoughtfully.

“What? Me running his business?”

“Yes. Inspired of you. My Motor Mechanics Level 2 Diploma will finish in January. Your tourist visa is nearly up. If he employs you, you can get another visa, as can I once I graduate, then…”

“…then we have a breathing space to consider our next move,” Serena put in.

“Exactly,” Bernie agreed. “And Timbo will be a qualified mechanic to take my place eventually.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Serena pointed out.

“I am?”

“Yes. All this separately applying for different visas is stupid. Why not just get married, and whatever one of us does the other comes along for the ride?”

“Oh…” Bernie seemed taken aback.

“Well you weren’t planning to be a motor mechanic for the rest of your life, I hope,” Serena said.

“I…er…no.. I suppose….”

“Well?”

“Well, yes, yes of course, Serena, of course I want to marry you. I just wasn’t quite ready for such a romantic proposal!”

Serena laughed. “Sorry, but it just seemed so obvious. And I do have a plan. I want to sell my house in Holby, buy a small vineyard and grow wine.”

“There are no wineries in the Northern Territory,” Bernie reminded her.

“Of course, I know that. We’ll have to move south. Adelaide. The Barossa Valley …..somewhere down there. But first I want to take some basic online courses, and I can do that while we sort out young Mark Travers. And after that you can come with me and do whatever you like- fix tractors, write, become a TV star…”

Bernie laughed at that. “Right. Well, we’ll see. And when would the wedding be?”

Serena had obviously given this some thought. “New Year’s…. in Alice Springs, where this romance was rekindled. And then we’ll all go to Uluru.”

“All?” Bernie asked.

“Yes….ALL … as many of our family as will come- plus Chiara and Mariam….Becca, Linda and Mark……and whoever else you’d like to have there.”

“Fleur?” asked Bernie, remembering her role in helping Serena.

“OK Fleur. And her partner. But not Alex.”

Bernie was quiet for a moment then she kissed Serena on the lips.

“Well that’s that, then,” she said.


End file.
